What Happens in Oklahoma Part III
by The-Lady-Isis
Summary: The Rules of the Game.  Sarah and Nick are now 22, fully-fledged Leaguers, struggling to forge their own reputations in their parents' shadows, and trying to cope with an unexpectedly expanding family. Don't own.
1. Author's Note

**Disclaimer: This is for the whole fic. The OCs are mine, the DC characters are not. I'm not looking to make money off any of this. Don't sue me. **

**A/N: Right, I have to apologise first for this incredibly long author's note. You have to ignore **_**Batman Beyond. **_**I'm virtually ignoring the League of the future, since everything is different because of the OK 'verse. And this is about the Founders and their grown-up kids, so no Aquagirl, Kai-Ro and possibly no Barda.**

**I hate to disappoint those of you hoping for a union between the houses of Kent and Wayne, but in my head that's SMWW by proxy, so **_**way **_**off the marriage menu (as hilarious as that might have been to see Bruce and Clark be in-laws). Here's the index of second generation Leaguers:**

**Wayne Twins - **Sarah Wayne/Reaper and Nick Wayne/Prometheus. Age 22.

**Stewart Twins - **Rex Stewart/Warhawk and Kyra Stewart/Skyhunter**. **Age 21.

**Kent Twins - **Michaela Kent/Supergirl II and Jonathan Kent/Superboy. Age 20.

**West Twins - **Iris West/Turbo and Isabelle West/Zippy (childhood nicknames that stuck). Age 19.

Okay, that's it for the twins. There are others, of course :)

**Oliver Queen/Dinah Lance - **Michael Queen/Green Arrow. Age 19.

**Vic Sage/Helena Bertinelli - **Olivia Sage/Huntress. Age 17.

**Bruce Wayne/Diana of Themyscira/Amanda Waller (kinda) - **Terry McGinnis/Batman. Age 17.

Got all that? Good. On with the show. Next page


	2. Terry

**What Happens In Oklahoma Part III: The Rules of the Game**

**Chapter One—Terry**

Bruce should have known that things were too quiet, that something was bound to happen. With Sarah, Nick, and Diana all gone on a League mission, Dick had come over from Bludhaven to patrol Gotham with Bruce monitoring him from the Cave. That had been a new rule that had been instituted when the twins had started patrolling: no going out alone. You either had a partner out there with you, or someone monitoring you from the Cave, just in case something happened. No exceptions.

Still, in the days that Dick had been watching over the city, things had been pretty quiet. That really should have been a warning unto itself. Murphy's law and all that.

For lack of anything more pressing to do, Bruce had decided to take a walk along the grounds. Though he no longer actively patrolled, he still kept himself physically fit. It was far too well-ingrained in him to do otherwise. The walk all the way around the perimeter was about ten miles in its entirety.

He was walking along the walls that surrounded the grounds, towards the main gate, when it happened. Bruce saw the light before he saw anything else. Within seconds, the motorcycle appeared over the rise, just feet away from him. He started to leap out of the way, but the bike swerved just in time, falling on its side and sliding several feet before hitting a tree. The rider, however, managed to leap off just in time to avoid being crushed between hard steel and unforgiving wood.

The sound of whoops and yells caught Bruce's attention and he turned. Several more bikes and their riders were approaching, all of them dressed in silly, brightly-coloured clothing and even face paint. They took no notice of him, however, their attentions all focused on the one they were pursuing – a kid no more than sixteen or so, Bruce thought.

The gang came to a halt a few yards away and got off their bikes, all of them wielding baseball bats and other such weapons. They started toward the kid, some of them shouting stupid jokes mixed in with threats.

Bruce stepped forward. "Leave him alone," he ordered, his voice modulated into a familiar, threatening growl. "And get off my property, you're trespassing!"

The leader, wearing a shabby, oddly familiar purple suit, whirled to look at him, as did everyone else. Clearly the gang had not even noted his presence. The kid held up his hand, motioning him back. "It's okay. I got this."

The leader, though, just smirked and sauntered toward Bruce, not even bothering to have his bat raised and poised to strike.

"Who do you think you're talking to, man?" he asked in a high-pitched tone. "We're the Jokerz!"

Bruce smirked. _And I'm Superman_. "Really?" he drawled.

At an unspoken signal, both Bruce and the kid exploded into action at the same moment.

It was easy, pathetically easy, to deal with these idiots. Bruce tossed one gang member—a girl in a pink and white polka dot dress—at the leader, knocking them over. Immediately after, he landed a kick in another one's stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the kid take out two more, only to muffle a curse when a third one swiped at his arm with a knife. The kid then punched the guy in the face.

Again, it was easy, but the adrenaline rush of it all was like tasting Alfred's chocolate cake again. No one else made it quite like he had, just as there was nothing like the thrill of taking out a few punks who thought they were the cream of the crop.

Bruce saw the leader push himself to his feet, rubbing his chest. "Let's get out of here!" he shouted, making a move toward his bike. The others didn't hesitate, clearly sensing they were quite out of their depth. Within moments, Bruce and the kid were alone.

He turned to the kid, taking him in. He'd held his own pretty well, and obviously knew what he was doing. Still, Bruce spotted the dark spot on the right arm of his jacket. It was spreading fast. "You all right, young man?" he asked, gesturing to his arm.

The kid looked at it and winced just a little. "Yeah," he answered. "Just a scratch." He looked around. "I probably better get home. My dad's going to kill me as it is." Bruce watched him move over to his bike, and saw his shoulders slump when he saw the state of the vehicle. "Slag it..."

"Come on," Bruce ordered, pulling a small remote from his inner jacket pocket. Pressing one of the buttons, the nearby gate opened. "You can call your father from the house. And I have some medical supplies in the kitchen to clean that cut."

The boy hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate it, Mister..."

Bruce smirked as they started up the driveway. "Bruce Wayne. And you are?"

The kid's eyes widened, clearly recognizing his name—no surprise there—but then cleared his throat. "Uh, McGinnis. Terry McGinnis."

Once they got into the house, and in the light, Bruce noticed that Terry actually looked a little like Nick. Shaking that thought, he pointed Terry into the study just off the main foyer. "Wait in there," he said. "I'll get the first-aid kit. There's a phone in there as well. You can use that to phone your father and let him know where you are."

Terry nodded and walked into the room. "Thanks, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce moved down the hall towards the kitchen. He'd meant to grab the first-aid kit and go right back to the study, but just as he entered the room, the kitchen's phone line rang. He picked it up. "Wayne."

"_Daddy?_"

"Sarah," Bruce greeted, his heart lightening a little. "Are you back yet?"

"_Yeah, we're in Metropolis now. Uncle Clark's already scheduling the debriefings. We should be home around midnight. You know, you could have warned me about the Hallacians! I mean, the _stink—_I'm going to be washing my hair for a solid _week _to get it out!_"

Bruce smirked and let his daughter rant for a few moments. "They're a group that needs to be experienced, Sarah—and smelt. It's a good learning experience for you." He pulled the first-aid kit out of a nearby cabinet. "I have to go. There was a bit of a dust up and I've got a teenager who needs a cut treated before his father comes to pick him up."

"_Really? Are you okay?_"

"I'm fine," he assured her. "I'll tell you about it when you and Nick and your mother get home."

"_Okay, Daddy. I love you. Bye._"

"Love you too. Bye."

Bruce hung up the phone and carried the first-aid kit out of the kitchen. He walked back to the study and stepped inside. Almost immediately, he became aware of three facts.

One, the phone was lying off the hook.

Two, Terry was not in the room.

Three, the clock hiding the entrance to the Batcave was _wide_ open.

Bruce's heart stopped.

He sat the first-aid kit down next to the phone, putting it on the hook, and moved forward, slipping silently through the tunnel with his blood roaring in his ears. When he got to the top of the stairs leading down into the Cave, Bruce looked around for Terry. The lights had been activated, even the ones they did not normally use, so he was not particularly difficult to spot down by the display cases that held his old uniform, as well as Barbara's, Tim's, and one of Dick's.

"What do you think you're doing?" Bruce growled lowly, storming down the stairs. Terry jumped and Bruce felt a twinge of satisfaction. He approached the kid, grabbed him by his uninjured arm and pulled him back toward the stairs.

"Whoa!"

Bruce didn't slow down, though, and didn't stop until they were back in the study. Wordlessly, he moved the clock back into its proper place and then turned around to face Terry, whose jaw was slack with shock.

Bruce glared at him. "There's the first-aid kit," he snapped, pointing at it.

"Y-You- That was- The costumes-"

"Did you call your father?"

"Huh? The line was dead," Terry replied, his eyes still huge.

Bruce picked up the phone and listened for the dial tone. "It's back," he told him, and held the phone out. "Call your father. Now."

Terry just continued to stare at him, the phone held limply in his hand. Bruce glared at him even more harshly and the kid paled just a bit. He held up the phone and dialed. Bruce opened the first-aid kit while Terry listened.

"He's not picking up," the kid said.

Bruce cursed inwardly. He wanted the kid gone. "Then call a taxi service," he ordered.

It took a phone call and a twenty-minute, highly-uncomfortable wait, but eventually the taxi arrived at the gates. Bruce opened the door and gave Terry a firm push out the door. "Go," he hissed. "And if _any_ of what you saw appears on the news, I'll make sure you live to regret it." Then he slammed the door shut.

Terry wasn't stupid. He got in the cab, he told the cabbie to drive as fast as he could, and he didn't look back. The cabbie wasn't talkative, for which he was grateful. Right now he wasn't too sure of his ability to conduct a coherent conversation. Shit, he'd just discovered the biggest secret in the history of Gotham! Briefly (and only very briefly), he contemplated telling someone, but who would he tell? Who'd believe him for a start? For God's sake, Bruce Wayne? He wasn't as big a celebrity as he had been a few years ago—apparently content to leave that to his kids now—but Terry still knew enough about him to know that had he not just seen those costumes, no way in hell would he have believed it. And if what he'd heard on the phone was true, then the entire Wayne family was involved. Sarah Wayne, her twin, their mother-

Holy crap. Their mother. Diana Wayne.

Wasn't Wonder Woman's real name Diana?

Fuck.

Okay, if _Wonder Woman_ was involved, then it would be a cold day in hell before Terry breathed a word to anyone.

"Seventeen-fifty."

He blinked. "Huh?"

The cabbie looked at him as if he were stupid. "Seventeen dollars, fifty cents."

Oh. They were here already. He handed over the money and got out, still walking numbly home. The bright flashing lights of the squad cars were the first thing that caught his attention. Next were the blood-red HAHA's painted on the walls. Then it was his mother, the tracks of tears still on her cheeks. She saw him, then ran to him with her arms outstretched. "Oh Terry!"

He hugged back automatically. "Mom? What's going on?"

"Honey, it's your dad," she sobbed. "He's… He's been murdered."

_What? _

And just like that, Terry's already fractured life shattered completely.

* * *

Bruce was running on adrenaline for the next several hours. Once he saw the McGinnis kid leave in his cab, he locked down the house and retreated into the Cave. He was still there when, at a quarter past midnight, his wife and children transported in.

He turned in his chair to face them, and took in their smiling faces. They all looked tired. Those smiles also faded when they saw the grave look on his own face.

"Bruce?" Diana asked, stepping closer to him. "What is it?"

"You didn't destroy the kitchen trying to boil water again, did you?" Nick asked jokingly, nudging his sister. Sarah just rolled her eyes.

"We have a problem," he informed them bluntly, his voice still in the low growl he'd used for so many years to terrify criminals. It didn't have the same effect on his son and daughter, but it did make them snap to attention. Diana too began to look concerned.

"The kid I mentioned to you, Sarah?" When she nodded, indicating that she remembered, Bruce continued. "He managed to find the Cave."

All three of them paled significantly. "Shit," Nick breathed.

"Exactly," Bruce said, agreeing with the sentiment. "As far as I can tell, he only saw the costumes on display, so he might not know about the three of you."

Sarah shook her head. "If he knows about you, Daddy, it won't take much for him to figure out about me and Nick. Not if he has any kind of brain."

Bruce nodded. "I warned him not to say anything, and our reputations will undoubtedly work in our favour-"

"But inevitably some are going to believe it anyway, if it gets out," Diana finished grimly.

"So what, we follow him?" Nick asked.

"We're going to have to," Sarah nodded. "If he goes anywhere near the police, or a newspaper, we stop him."

"How?" Nick asked. "He's a civilian, Sarah, a kid. We can't break his bones because Dad made a mistake leaving him alone in the library."

"I'm not suggesting we do," she said calmly. "We'll simply have to negotiate with him. Aggressively if necessary." Before Prometheus could reply, she moved over to the computer. "We have the phone number he dialled, so we can use that to get an address. P, head out into the city. I'll let you know where you're going once I have it."

Nick nodded, though clearly tired. They all needed to sleep; the mission had been draining for all of them. Nonetheless, the urgency of their situation was keeping them going now. If the kid talked, that was it—their lives as the Waynes were effectively over. Plus, if word did get out about their alter egos, it was only a matter of time before people began to make connections to other heroes. It could start a catastrophic chain-reaction of secret identities being revealed. It was the scenario they'd been taught to fear for years, ever since they were kids. The second-worst thing that could go wrong in their lives. Thankfully, the worst thing had never happened. They were all still alive after all.

"I'll go with you," Diana said.

Mother and son lifted into the air and through the batwing exit tunnel.

Sarah crossed to where her father was, typing quickly. "Well?"

"I have the address—an apartment block on Prescott Street. But that's not the problem."

Reaper frowned. "What is it?"

"The police are reporting an incident there, earlier this evening. About the same time the boy went home."

"You think he was involved?"

"It's possible. Diana, did you get that?"

"_Yes_," came his wife's voice. "_We'll be on our guard. Wonder Woman out._"

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	3. Batman Mark II

**A/N: If you want more info on how Terry becomes Batman in canon, then I'm sure you can find the episode on YouTube or something. For now, he's just got evidence that links Powers both to the murder of his father and the plan to take Wayne Enterprises from the Waynes. DCAU Wiki has more info, but I'm not going into too much detail here.**

**Right, a lot of people have asked for descriptions of what Sarah and Nick look like in their hero uniforms - I've had two very talented artists working on illustrations. The following link is for the work of one of them - take out the spaces when you paste it into your browser. Hope the pictures help! **

**http: / www. batmanwonderwoman . com / forum / viewtopic . php?f =9&t =684**

**Chapter Two—Batman Mark II**

The aftermath of Terry hearing of his father's murder was pretty much a blur. He could recall the cops questioning him, the funeral, packing up his things and moving into his mother's apartment, but it was like he had been working on autopilot. He'd barely registered his mother's presence, or his brother's. It wasn't until he found the disc hidden among his stuff that things really seemed to come back into focus.

Especially given what he found _on_ the disc.

The wind was blowing hard when Terry stopped in front of the gates and took off his helmet. He looked up at the manor house. It was dark, but he didn't doubt that at least one of the Waynes was up there. He just hoped they'd listen. Kicking the stand down on his bike, he walked over to the intercom and pressed the call button.

"Hey, something stinks with your business partner," he called. "I think it cost my old man his life!"

He let go of the call button and waited. No response.

Terry groaned. _Come on, Wayne,_ he thought. _I know you're up there._ He pulled the disc out of his jacket pocket and held it up. "The answer's on here," he said, hitting the call button again. "It looks like Powers is gonna blame it on you and your company."

There was still no answer, but the sound of a roaring engine caught Terry's attention and he turned around. A motorcycle was rapidly approaching, only slowing down a few yards away and coming to a halt next to his bike. The rider, dressed completely in black, slowly took off his helmet.

Or rather, _her _helmet. Sarah Wayne stared at him with serious blue eyes beneath a mussed head of blonde hair, her trademark sparkling grin nowhere to be found.

Terry couldn't move, couldn't say a word. He felt..._trapped_ by those eyes. It wasn't quite like how he'd felt under her father's gaze after he'd found...what he'd found the last time Terry was here, but it was pretty damn close.

Sarah studied him for several more seconds, and then nodded slightly. "Come on, kid," she said, gesturing to his motorcycle. "Let's go. You can tell me and mine about it in the house instead of shouting it out here for anyone who happens to go by." She pulled a remote out of her jacket and pressed a button, causing the gates to immediately open.

Terry stared at her, a little shocked that she was actually letting him into her home, but after a moment, he stopped questioning his good luck. The Waynes were the right ones to go to. Hell, they were the _only ones_ to go to if he wanted Derek Powers exposed for the murdering son of a bitch he was.

Not waiting for him, Sarah kicked her bike back into life, and set off up the drive. It wasn't until the gates started closing slowly that Terry realised he was supposed to be following. He sped under the archway just as the gates closed with a clang, and caught up to Sarah just as she was getting off her bike, leaning forward to swing her leg over.

Now Terry was here on a very important mission—but he was a teenage boy on a very important mission. And when she did _that _in _those _leather pants, his mind did wander a little bit. Or a _lot_-

"Keep looking at my ass, kid, and you're not going to get any help at all," she said suddenly, and without looking at him.

He shivered, but didn't admit that he had been looking at her ass. She punched a code into the keypad by the door—91939, he noted just in case—then put her key in the lock, twisting the handle at the same time she twisted the key. The huge doors opened, and she motioned him inside.

"Follow me. Don't think about wandering off," she ordered curtly.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he muttered.

She led him up to the first floor, to the same study that he'd found the Batcave in. At the door, Terry paused; the wingback leather chair in front of the desk was facing away from him, but he had no doubt about who was in it, or that his reception was going to be anything less than frosty.

Sarah moved to the chair, stood in front of it and spoke quietly. The room was large; Terry couldn't hear exactly what she was saying. He heard the reply though. A very unhelpful, "Find your brother."

Sarah left, meeting Terry's eyes neutrally, neither glaring nor smiling at him. The chair didn't turn around either. So the old man was going to ignore him? Screw that. He slammed the disc down onto the polished mahogany surface of the desk.

"In case you weren't listening, Powers had my dad killed!" he spat furiously. "And he's going to blame it on you and your company, leaving Wayne Enterprises completely clear for him to takeover. This _isn't _just my problem!"

Finally, the chair turned, and Bruce Wayne regarded him with inscrutable eyes. "If you have evidence, take it to the police."

Even as he said that, he took the disc and slid it into the laptop in front of him. At the sound of footsteps, Terry turned to see Sarah coming back in, her brother in tow. Now _he _looked like Wonder Woman—how no one had spotted it before was incomprehensible, especially considering the amount of paparazzi whose job it was to simply follow Nick Wayne around. They both went to stand behind Bruce's chair, reminding Terry uncomfortably of a scene from _The Godfather. _Couldn't beat the classics—but although he would have expected such a reenactment to be ridiculous, knowing the identity of these three people...it was anything but.

Bruce titled the laptop toward his daughter, who bent to scan through the files quickly, her blue eyes moving to and fro as she read. She glanced up at Terry. "You found this?"

"_Yes_," he emphasised. "See what I mean? This is bigger than- than just my dad." Christ, it hurt to say that.

On Bruce's right, Nick's gaze softened slightly.

Bruce repeated his question. "So why not go to the police?"

"Oh please, like they'd listen to a kid!" Terry protested. "I'd be accusing a member of Gotham's elite, and all they'd put it down to was my not being in my right mind because of what the bastard did to Dad!" His tirade started, he wasn't about to stop now. "Added to which, even if they looked at the disc, who's to say they're not _all _in Powers' pay anyway? I'd probably just get myself killed too!"

"They're not all corrupt," Nick said mildly.

"It's Gotham," Terry shot back witheringly. "Of course they are."

Bruce ejected the disc, slid it across the desk. "Take it to Commissioner Gordon."

Terry's mouth gaped. "And how the hell do I get to Commission Gordon? There's no way they'd let me anywhere near her office, let alone her!"

"Tell her we sent you. She'll listen."

"So that's it?" Terry exploded. "You're just telling me to leave and let the police handle it?"

"Yes."

Nick glanced at his father with a frown. "Dad-"

Bruce overrode him, not taking his hard eyes from Terry's. "You know where the front door is."

"This is _bullshit_! You have to do something! You're Batman!"

Bruce's gaze sharpened. "I _was _Batman."

Contrary to his words, the batglare came back with force, and Terry took an involuntary step back. Bruce wasn't finished. "Leave. Now."

"Fine!" Terry snapped, snatching up the disc and shoving it into his pocket. Without another word, he stormed out of the study, and out of the manor itself. He drove back to the city at a speed only thirty miles per hour above the limit. If the Waynes wouldn't help him, then Terry would take Powers down himself.

* * *

Sarah watched from just behind her father's shoulder as the kid's motorcycle roared down the driveway. "Daddy," she asked quietly, "are you sure?"

He turned to her, eyes curious. "Why aren't you?"

She shrugged. "He obviously hasn't told anyone. Don't you think we...owe him?"

"No, I don't," Bruce said flatly. "Besides, Barbara will listen to him as long as he tells her we sent him."

"If he trusts Babs enough," Nick pointed out from the fireplace. "If he doesn't then what? We'll look into it, right?"

"No," was the slightly surprising answer. "We can't risk more exposure than we already have."

"It's a murder!" his son protested. "What's so different about this one to all the others?"

"The others are public figures," their father replied. "People whose lives affect the city as a whole, not just-"

"Not just one family? Since when did one person's life become less important than another's?" Nick demanded.

"I said no. That's my final word." Bruce's tone made it clear that no further argument would be brooked.

Nick left the room angrily, muttering, "Looks like we've got Batman back again..."

Sarah looked calmly at her father. "Daddy...he has a point. If you really think crimes that don't affect the public shouldn't be investigated, then the League never should have gotten involved when Nicky and I were kidnapped. You and Mom should have left it to the police."

Unable to believe what he was hearing, Bruce frowned hard at his daughter. "Sarah, if we'd left it to the police then we never would have found you!"

"Exactly," she replied softly. "The cops might never find who killed the kid's dad. If you think it's too dangerous, I'm not going to go against you." She kissed his cheek. "But I don't think we can afford to take our eye off the ball with this one." Leaving it at that, she went after her brother.

Things settled down into an eerie peace after their confrontation with the McGinnis boy. Sarah made a point to watch the mutterings of the press even more closely than she normally did, but there was no mention of Batman, Reaper, and Prometheus in connection with Bruce Wayne and his two children. She and Nicky also kept a close watch on the police chatter, but there was no mention of any investigation being opened against Derek Powers on that front either.

A few days later, the annual Mayor's Ball was held, attended by nearly all of Gotham's elite, including the Wayne family. It was probably the most prominent event in Gotham, a field day for photographers and the rest of the press, but for Sarah herself, it was usually the most boring night of the year...except for the occasional, surprise entertainment.

"I can't believe you threw Rob Lindstrom into the fountain!"

Sarah smirked at her brother as Bruce pulled the car through the gates. "Hey, the guy was feeling me up after I told him to buzz off. Besides, I figured he'd rather cool off that way rather than be the subject of Daddy enhancing his 'overprotective father' reputation." She glanced up at the front seat and saw the grim look on her father's face. She grinned.

Nick shook his head. "Patricia Lindstrom looked ready to have a heart attack," he said.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Because she was afraid her little baby boy was going to catch a sniffle." She snorted. "Like that was going to happen in the dead of summer."

"True, dear," Diana spoke up. "But you're not the one who had to listen to the woman rant about it for over an hour."

"Well, if she'd taught 'her dear little Robby' that when a girl says no, she probably does actually mean no, then she wouldn't have to rant about him being slapped or thrown into fountains."

Bruce stopped the car in front of the house and turned it off. As they climbed out, he said, "Next time, let me deal with him, Sarah."

"What? So you can scare him so badly that he decides to join a Swiss monastery? That's no fun-"

"Dad," Nick cut his sister off, "Sarah. Look."

He pointed up the stairs to the door and they followed his gaze. The doors were hanging open.

All joking around and thoughts of Rob Lindstrom immediately fled.

Nick took point, with Bruce and Diana right behind him, and Sarah taking the rear, and the four of them cautiously entered the manor.

Sarah's eyes swept over their immediate surroundings. Nothing appeared out of place, but she knew they would be inspecting every room in the house long into the night. And that was _before_ they called the cops.

They moved further into the house, finally coming to the study. The chairs and desk were in place, but not all was as it should have been. The clock that hid the Batcave's entrance was ajar by about a foot.

Sarah stifled a gasp. _Not again..._

Her family was apparently of a similar mind, because they sped up and one by one, they dashed down the tunnel, down the stairs, and into the Cave. Sarah's eyes immediately went to the computer, but it was powered down, just as she'd left it before they had left for the Mayor's Ball. She then hurried over to the lab bench, where they did much of their forensics work, but nothing seemed out of place there either.

"Shit," Nick spoke up from behind her. "Dad, look."

Sarah whirled around to where her brother was, but he was pointing in a different direction. She followed his pointing hand, and found herself looking at the display cases. One of them was conspicuously empty, the one that held the Batman costume that Daddy had started working on before he retired. The one he never used for himself, but continued to develop even after he stepped back from field work.

Come to think of it, Daddy had never really given anyone a straight answer about that costume and why he kept developing it. He just said that it was important, just in case.

Whatever the case might have been, it no longer mattered. What mattered was that the costume, which was completely state of the art, was gone. God only knew who had it...

Sarah froze. _Wait a minute..._ "McGinnis, it has to be him. The kid's taken it."

There was a moments' silence, and then Diana's furious voice echoed throughout the entire Cave. "How could anyone be so foolish as to think they were capable of taking up the mantle of Batman?"

Nick tried to pacify her; he couldn't imagine that Terry McGinnis was being all that rational. "Mom, the kid probably isn't thinking straight. He's just lost his father, and even if he did try and contact Babs, there's no guarantee that he managed to." He directed his gaze at his father now. "And we weren't prepared to help him. And now he's likely to end up dead in an alley somewhere, so what are we doing still standing here?" he demanded, angry that this was even necessary in the first place.

The kid needed help; helping people was what they did, end of story. Why his father had refused was beyond him, and the fact that Sarah had backed him up- Well, that wasn't all that surprising, she always did. But in this case, Dad was so obviously wrong, so why the hell couldn't _she _see that? For a genius, she could be so..._blind _sometimes. Not wasting anymore time, Nick spun into his costume and then took to the air, flying toward Gotham at top speed.

Sarah watched him go with a sigh. "Great. Now I have two of them to rescue," she muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

She changed quickly, then came out of the changing rooms snatching up a spare batarang or two on her way over to the car. "We'll be monitoring you," Dad said, already sitting at the computer.

Sarah nodded, then pulled her hood up and got into the Batmobile, roaring out of the Cave in a cloud of tyre smoke. On the way into the city, she accessed Nicky's com-link. "What are you going to do, Prometheus, fly around Gotham until you find him?"

Her brother's voice was annoyed. "Well, what do you suggest?"

She smirked. "Computer: locate Batman." The smirk quickly disappeared when she saw where the blinking yellow dot representing Terry was. Tapping on the touchscreen, she accessed the suit's status. McGinnis's heartbeat was elevated, and the suit was showing a small breach on his upper arm, and increasing impact to the knuckles. Meaning the kid was in a fight. In the batsuit. Which meant that the kind of criminals attacking him probably would not be your average thug. "Shit," she hissed softly. "P, meet me on the corner of 11th and Broadwalk. Gilbert Building roof."

"Affirmative."

Prometheus was further away than she was, and she'd get there first, but she'd wait for him. She blasted through the city, then parked just behind Gilbert Investments, activating the security as she locked the car. Like the suit Terry currently occupied, her boots were equipped with flight-capabilities, and the bottom of her cape was flame-retardant. She flew up to the roof and set down silently, moving over to the other side. Activating the infrared in her mask, she could see what was happening in the alley opposite. There were ten figures that she could count, nine scumbags surrounding the figure in the batsuit. Most of them were wielding knives; a couple had chains. The kid didn't look like he was doing too badly, but in a moment he'd get overwhelmed.

A second later, Nicky dropped down out of the sky next to her. "What are you standing here for?" he demanded in a whisper. "Kid's going to get himself killed!"

He made as if to dive off the roof; Sarah grabbed his wrist to stop him. "Wait!"

"Why?"

She motioned toward Terry. "Let's see what he can do first."

"Reaper-" Nicky started to protest.

"P," she broke in. "Trust me."

He didn't look convinced, but nodded. "Fine..."

A few seconds later, however, it was clear that they'd have to intervene or the kid would get taken down. Permanently. Both of them descended at once, dealt with the remaining five thugs within ten seconds, and then faced Terry McGinnis.

Sarah narrowed her eyes at him. "That was sloppy, ill-conceived and misjudged," she criticised. Her gaze softened just a little bit. "But for a novice...it wasn't bad."

Nicky clapped him on the shoulder, making his knees buckle just a little bit. "You've got potential, kid."

Terry didn't look like he knew what to say. "Uh, thanks?"

"Don't get cocky," Sarah quashed. "You're coming back to the Cave with us right now and giving us the suit back. You haven't earned the right to wear it."

Terry wasn't budging. "What about my dad?" he demanded. "Your fath-" Sarah glared warningly at him, and he amended his sentence. "Batman refused to do anything about it!"

"We'll solve it, kid," Nicky assured, "but you can't be involved."

"This is my _father _we're talking about!" he protested. "No way am I sitting in the sidelines while you try and-"

"We don't 'try', kid," Sarah told him, "we just do."

"Stop calling me that," he said irritably. "My name's-"

She cut him off again. Hera, did he have no common sense? "Not out here," she warned.

"And until you earn that suit, it's 'kid', understand?" Prometheus added.

The kid nodded reluctantly. "Yeah."

"Good," Sarah said. "You're coming with me."

"I'm patrolling," Nicky said.

She nodded. "Take care."

Knowing that the kid would follow her, she led the way back to the car, opened the top and gestured for him to get in. "This is so _cool_," he said once she'd gotten behind the driver's seat.

"It is not 'cool'," she said sharply. "It's a very advanced, very _expensive_ piece of technology that is _not _to be handled in a frivolous manner, is that clear?"

McGinnis fidgeted in his seat like a naughty school boy. "Crystal," he muttered.

Sarah lifted into the air and opened the throttle all the way. He had a point, really. It was a very cool piece of advanced technology.

It took them little time to get back to the Cave at the speed they were driving, and her parents were waiting for them. Both were glaring. "Take off that suit, and get out of our home," Diana snapped, as soon as the canopy was open.

"But-"

"_Now_!"

"I didn't _want _to steal the suit, but you didn't exactly leave me with much choice!" Terry protested. "The police wouldn't help me-"

"Did you even try?" Bruce asked bluntly.

"Of course I didn't!" he spat. "This is _Gotham_, what the hell would be the point?" Throwing the cowl back, Terry started tearing off the suit.

Sarah bit her lip, preparing to do something she had never done—contradict her father. "Wait a second, kid."

Bruce's head swung around so fast she wasn't sure for a moment if he'd sustained whiplash. Mom, too, looked utterly shocked. Sarah spoke to her father—she cared what Mom thought, of course, but Gotham was Bruce's city still, even if he no longer patrolled there.

"Prometheus and I agreed to help," she said, ignoring the way his eyes narrowed to deadly slits, "but there's something else."

"Which is?" her father barked.

She motioned at Terry. "I think the kid should be trained."

Thankfully, Bruce always took note of her opinion, as he had since she was thirteen. Even when he didn't agree with it. He looked over at Terry, gaze sweeping the kid up and down as though he were a mannequin upon which the batsuit was hung. "Because?"

"He's got potential," she said. "From what I saw, lots of it. He's sloppy, he rushed in, he's arrogant and had Prometheus and I not been there, he would be dead right now."

"A lot of faults," Diana commented calmly.

"Yes," Sarah agreed, "but despite them, with the right training he could be good."

"Batman good?"

She nodded. "In time. Once he learns discipline."

Terry apparently got tired of being discussed as though he wasn't there. "Hey, who said _anything _about being Batman? I just took the suit to try and get justice for my dad, which if you'd agreed to help in the _first place_, I wouldn't have-"

"We already said we would," Sarah interrupted. "Now you have to make a decision. You can go home to your mom, to your brother-"

He opened his mouth to demand exactly how they knew about his mother and Matt, but the glare he got from Bruce told him it would be a bad idea. He looked back at Sarah. "-or you can _do _something. You can help stop what happened to you from happening to some other kid."

"You and Prometheus-"

"Can't be everywhere at once." Her voice softened a little with regret. "Maybe you're the result. I'm good, kid, but two of us would be better."

He frowned. "There's already two of you-"

She smirked. "Two of us who can make Gotham's underbelly wet their pants with a word."

Terry stared, bug-eyed, at her—and then at Bruce, then Diana. The princess's expression was a lot softer than it had been a moment ago, but the head of the family was still glaring. "If you do this," he finally said, "then you leave vengeance at the door. Reaper and Prometheus will bring Powers down—you'll have nothing to do with it. Only _afterward _will you be allowed to operate in the city. For justice, not anything else."

"But-"

"This is not a negotiation. Accept the terms or get out."

Finally, Terry nodded.

"Good," Sarah said, her tone suddenly much different than it had been. She sounded almost…gleeful. Holding out her hand to him, she added, "Welcome to our world."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	4. A Bad Day

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! And I'm glad you liked the images of Sarah and Nick. **

**Chapter Three—A Bad Day**

_**Four months later**_

"Bruce Wayne."

"_Hi, Daddy._"

Bruce frowned at the high-pitched tone of his daughter's voice, the tension clear even over the phone line. "Sarah? What's wrong?"

"_Um, I'm in some trouble. Not big trouble, but I'm at Police HQ. The cops pulled me over for speeding. My bike's been impounded. Can I get a lift home please?_"

"Your bike's been _impounded_?" he repeated incredulously. "Sarah! You know better than to-"

Her voice was flippant, so she obviously wasn't alone. She did know better than to get herself arrested—now that she had been, the police would have her DNA on file, fingerprints, God knew what else. She'd have to be so careful from now on. Knowing Sarah, though, she would be harder on herself than he ever would.

"_Calm down, Daddy, it'll be fine. Now are you going to come down and bail me out or not?_"

Bruce sighed, running a hand down his face. "Yeah. I'm on the way."

Her voice gentled into sincerity and regret. "_Thank you, Daddy._"

He rolled his eyes as he put the phone down. Someday—God only knew when—he'd be able to say no when she said 'Daddy' like that. Probably wouldn't happen within the next decade, but still... Sighing with mingled exasperation and affection, Bruce left his office and got into the elevator.

It took a few minutes to drive across the city—keeping to the speed limit of course—and once he arrived he was shown quickly to where his daughter was waiting, being glared at by a detective and ogled by a teenaged intern. To her credit, Sarah did have the good grace to look ashamed when he walked in. Before she went back to huffing and throwing glares at the police officers, anyway.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne," the detective said stiffly, "thank you for coming."

"What did she do?"

"Speeding, sir. And since this wasn't her first traffic offense-"

"I _wasn't _going that fast," Sarah interjected. "Daddy, you know I wouldn't be stupid on my bike—it's too pretty to risk it being totaled-"

Bruce turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised. "What was the speed limit?"

She looked down. "Thirty."

"And you were going how fast?"

"...eighty seven..."

Bruce's anger was all real now. "Sarah!"

She winced, spreading her hands innocently. "I'm sorry, Daddy, but I had somewhere to be! Kyra and I were going shopping and-"

"Enough, Sarah." No one else would have noticed, but the glare and the bark did their job. With an apprehensive swallow, Sarah fell silent. Her father turned to the man next to him pulling out his cheque book. "Bail?"

Once that was paid, they left in silence. Sarah didn't break it until they were out of Gotham. "Stop with the silent treatment, Daddy, I'm not a child anymore."

"No? Then don't act like one with stunts like this," he snapped.

"How is protecting our secret acting like a child?" she asked, shocked.

"Protecting us?" he repeated. "Sarah, the police have your DNA on file. If you ever drop _anything _at a crime scene-"

"Alright, so it was a miscalculation! On the other hand, I've been Princess Sarah again—the girl who spits in the face of all authority—how can I possibly be protecting law and order in this city if I'm doing stupid, irresponsible things like this?"

"It _was _stupid and irresponsible."

"Oh, so it's not when Nicky's fucking his way around the city?" she pressed, starting to look a little angry herself. "It's not when he's getting drunk almost _every _night at parties? What if he gets some girl pregnant, Daddy? What if he accidentally uses his powers because he's not sober enough to-"

"He doesn't get _drunk_, he knows better than that."

She snorted. "Does he? He has Mom's metabolism, Daddy, he can sober up before he gets home."

They'd arrived at the manor by now, and Sarah pushed open the door.

"Hera, Daddy, _I_ go a little crazy on my bike and you freak out," she complained, hanging her jacket up and coming into the living room still arguing. Diana raised an eyebrow—it was extremely rare Bruce and Sarah disagreed even slightly, let alone actually argued. "You've done far worse, and so has Nicky! Do you know what everyone says about it? 'Like father, like son'."

While she waited for his reply, she strode over to her mother and kissed her cheek. "Hey, Mom."

Bruce followed her. "That's-"

"If you say that it's different, then I'm going to assume that this is some kind of gender double standard. I think Mom will have something to say about that." She put a hand on her hip, and then threw a knowing smirk at her father.

Bruce looked at his wife, saw the raised eyebrow and knew he was on dangerous ground. "_Not_ what I meant," he said, half to his daughter and half to his wife.

Sarah was still smirking. "I thought so."

Bruce glared at her, and then decided to play the parent card. "You're still grounded, though."

Her face fell, and her mouth dropped. "Daddy!" she exclaimed in outrage. "I'm twenty two, you can't ground me!"

"Watch me," he said flatly.

* * *

"Unh!"

As she hit the Cave well, Sarah's breath left her in a grunt of pain. Damn, but the kid was getting_ better_. The improvement Terry had shown in the short time she'd been teaching him was nothing short of miraculous. The kid was a natural fighter, and only needed a strict, guiding hand. She shoved herself away from the wall and tried to retake the offensive. She feinted, going for an incredibly obvious roundhouse kick that Terry absorbed easily. While he took a step backward, she brought her other leg forward and up into a snap kick. It connected well with his chin, and sent him tumbling backward. He didn't use the momentum she'd provided him with, and only lost his footing, falling.

Sarah sighed impatiently, moving to stand over him, hands on her hips. "How many times, Ter-"

Terry proved that while he might not have picked up Sarah's style perfectly, he'd developed one of his own. With her guard down, his leg kicked out, getting the back of her knee and pulling her into a kneeling position. She lashed out with her right fist, hitting his jaw, hard. Terry hit back, and they continued for a moment, exchanging blows with neither gaining the upper hand. Sarah stepped up her attack gradually, gauging the point at which her skill became too much for Terry's to cope with. Her father and brother were watching from the computer as well, and once Terry was down for good they'd compare observations and decide what to train the kid in next.

Finally, after more than forty minutes of sparring, Sarah made the final blow, jabbing stiff fingers into his diaphragm and winding him. "That's enough for tonight. Go home, kid."

He nodded, and after a second, stood and went to get changed. When he came out, he looked annoyingly _un_-exhausted. "Same time tomorrow?"

She nodded silently, and he put a hand up to Bruce and Nick. "Night."

Nick waved briefly. "Night, kid."

As soon as he was out of the Cave, Sarah gave in, and was now completely out of breath, slumping slightly against the weapons chest. Both her father and brother watched her with identical smirks. Nick wondered how much longer she'd be wanting to handle Terry's physical training by herself. "He's learning fast, huh?" he commented.

She nodded, still panting. "Oh yeah. Really fast."

"Giving you a run for your money?" he asked.

He'd expected a scornful reply, but to his surprise Sarah nodded seriously. "Almost," she said. "He's not quite there yet, but give him a couple years at most, and his physical abilities will be top notch."

Nick's eyebrows hit his hairline. "Seriously? Even you didn't learn that fast."

She nodded, and drained a bottle of water in one go. "I know," she replied after swallowing, wiping her mouth with the sweatband on her wrist. She nodded at Bruce. "He's definitely the right guy to fill your shoes. Almost. He's still got a long, long way to go in terms of detective and forensic work." She leaned against the desk next to him, eyes narrowed in thought. "It's almost as though I'm fighting a younger version of you, a rawer form. How I imagine you'd have been at...twenty, say. It's odd."

Their father echoed her expression. "Mmm."

Nick rolled his eyes with a smile. "Great, now look what you did. He'll be on the phone to Uncle Vic before we know where we are. And we only just got him off the idea that some weird, otherworldly power had a hand in nearly all of the Founders having twins."

Sarah laughed before changing the subject. "Speaking of League kids, I should make sure Olivia knows what she's doing tomorrow."

"I'm sure she does," Nick commented. "Might only be her second official League mission, but she's a natural, and she's smart. She did brilliantly with Intergang last month."

"True. You're right, I'm sure she's fine. Plus she has my com-link frequency if not."

Olivia Sage – the second Huntress – was only seventeen, and her mother and some of the other Founders had had doubts concerning her ability and competence to join the Justice League so young. However, the Question had been able to convince Bruce that Olivia was capable, ready and willing to pick up where her mother had left off. Last month, Sarah and Nick had found themselves fighting alongside her in a tussle with Intergang, and despite her age and lack of experience, Huntress II had proven herself admirably. In fact, Sarah trusted her to perform a lot better than she did some other, longer-established members of the League. _Supergirl for one… _Thank Hera she didn't have to deal with Michaela tomorrow; Jonathan Kent would be the super-strong member of the team in the sting operation she had planned, and he had never created any problems for Reaper in the past. The son of Lois Lane and Clark Kent was far more serious-minded and just plain _competent_ than his twin sister.

Sarah checked time and grimaced. "Crap, I have to meet Trey in like a half-hour…"

"Thought you weren't meeting him till eleven?" Nick asked.

"Thought you were grounded," Bruce commented sternly.

"I _am _grounded—this is for reputation sakes', Daddy. You know I won't get _anything _out of it."

Her father looked at her for a moment, and then nodded. "Alright. But I expect you on patrol by two."

"Of course, Daddy." She kissed both of their cheeks, and then headed up the manor. "Later."

* * *

There are some days that the universe just hates you. Today was one of those days—at least for Reaper. It had started off fine; patrol had gone well the night before, she'd slept well, even had cold pizza for breakfast since Mom hadn't been awake to tell her it wasn't nutritionally balanced. Then things went downhill. Like the fact that her 'boyfriend'—the quarterback of the Gotham Knights—had been cheating on her. It didn't hurt her heart much; he'd been a cover for her. Still, it was a pretty serious blow for her pride. She was Sarah Wayne! She was the most sought-after girl in the city, she had _everything _going for her-

She clenched her fists. _Bastard_. Still, she thought with a sudden smirk, at least she'd made sure he wouldn't forget her in a hurry. _Though Daddy probably won't be happy..._ She'd almost given herself away, though she couldn't help but be a bit proud about the perfect punch she'd delivered to the bridge of his nose. She'd broken it, and put him out of action for the Superbowl. Knights fans might be pissed that they'd lost him, but at least Sarah gained some satisfaction in the last moments of their relationship.

That had made her feel better for the majority of the afternoon, but now...it was a terrible day again. She was stuck with _Supergirl _on this mission, because Superboy had gotten himself entangled with some kind of Kryptonite-related emergency. Which was fine—well it wasn't, but he'd recover—so now she was stuck with Michaela. She just _knew _that this perfectly-planned sting operation was going to go down the pan _any _minute.

Then, to top it all off, the front page of the _National Enquirer _had just hit her in the face. She pulled it off, looking with a scowl at the headline. _Gotham's Princess Royally Screwed Over. _She tore it in half and let the pieces flutter down from the roof she was crouching on. Her gaze found the movement in the sky, of the winged figure coming toward her.

Skyhunter touched down on the room next to her, a kind expression on her masked face. "Hey," she said gently. "I'm sorry."

Sarah waved her hand with a dismissive snort. "Oh, don't be. Guy was a wanker."

Kyra, knowing her best friend, only sat on the edge of the roof next to her, and waited for her to continue. It wasn't long before she did. "I just… Sometimes I want it to be less complicated, you know?" Sarah exclaimed. "Like, say, Daddy wasn't...who Daddy is. And I didn't have this whole dual identities thing to contend with. Then add the whole _Aphrodite _thing into the mix and it just gets a million times worse. I wish I could find a nice guy, tell him my name, and we'd go from there." She sighed. "And it's never going to be that simple, is it?"

Kyra shook her head slowly. "Don't think so," she said quietly.

Sarah sighed again, then perked up slightly, cocking her eyebrow at the half-Thanagarian beside her. "How do you do it?"

"Don't date outside the League," Skyhunter replied simply.

Reaper smirked. "Oh right. Well, we can't all chase Green Arrow..."

"Hey!" Kyra protested. "Low blow."

More cheerful now, Sarah carried on teasing. "So did you or did you not call him 'sex on legs' last week?"

Kyra glowered at her. "That's not relevant to anything, Reaper."

"No?"

"No, and there are plenty of guys in the League who know who you are."

"Really?" Sarah asked, voice heavy with sarcasm. "Like who, apart from Warhawk and Superboy?"

"Well... what's wrong with Warhawk or Superboy?" Kyra pointed out.

Reaper snorted. "Please, Sky, he's a great guy, but the only way I'd date Superboy is to piss his sister off. Although..." Her gaze turned sly and looked over to the darkened rooftop where Michaela was supposed to be. _If _she'd followed the plan, then Supergirl II could probably hear every word they were saying. Sarah couldn't really care less.

"Reaper!"

"What? You can't deny the idea has merit," she smirked.

"Okay, well what about Warhawk?" Kyra asked.

Immediately, Sarah's stomach started twisting. "What about him?" she asked neutrally.

She hadn't told Kyra—or even Nicky—the kinds of things she was starting to feel for Rex Stewart, and she saw no reason that had to change anytime soon. Real relationships in their line of work weren't something she could afford. It might have worked for her parents, Auntie Shayera and Uncle John, Uncle Ollie and Aunt Dinah, but they were already established heroes when they entered into their respective marriages. Sarah needed to prove she was committed to the League and to Gotham before she seriously considered her social life.

Kyra thankfully hadn't noticed the fact that heat was slowly crawling up Sarah's neck. "Why not date him?"

"Other than to piss you off?" Sarah asked, praying for a distraction.

"Don't you like him?" Kyra pressed.

Knowing she wouldn't stop until she got an answer, Sarah took a deep breath, preparing to give an ambiguous response. "I–" Suddenly her attention snapped to something that was happening a small distance away. It looked like the bad guys had finally decided to show. "Movement in north quadrant!" she hissed into her comlink.

They were here to corner and capture Alan Kingsleigh. Ostensibly, he was the head of an import/export firm, but in reality the head of a black-market corporation, a corporation that had recently been selling a nice range of Justice League-only technology. The plan was to capture Kingsleigh, make him talk—Reaper was looking forward to that part—and then neutralise his international trade with the information he provided. Stealth here was key; Kingsleigh kept a transporter on his person at all times. Reaper now carried an EMP emitter that should disable it, but it had to be used at the right time. Too early, and it would cancel out the weapons of her allies—too late, and Kingsleigh would transport away to any location on the globe, and they would be at square one again. Everything depended on timing, and on the others waiting for Reaper to give the signal.

Skyhunter and Reaper both watched, fully-alert, as a motorcade of six cars—one a police car belonging to a corrupt officer of the GCPD; she made a mental note to drop a tip to Aunt Babs about it—pulled up outside a warehouse. Sarah spoke into her com-link.

"Do not engage until I give my signal."

The car doors opened, and about twenty men got out; her mask's nightvision easily picked out Kingsleigh as the best-dressed one there.

"_Reaper, I have a clear path_," Supergirl's voice came over the channel.

Grinding her teeth, Reaper snapped out a reply. "Do not engage. I repeat, do not engage."

"_He's almost inside the building!"_

"Which is where we _want _him, idiot!"

The building had been booby-trapped with nerve gas; once released, the gas would induce temporary paralysis that would enable them to arrest Kingsleigh and his guards with relative ease. The trigger was a pressure-point on the chair in his office.

The men went inside, with four remaining as guards. Sarah's infrared followed Kingsleigh through the building. "Prepare to engage. Target will trip the switch in ten, nine, eight, seve-"

A blue and red blur shot out from the rooftop opposite, diving down the building. Sarah spat out the most vicious Themysciran curse her Aunt Philipus was not supposed to have taught her. "Everyone converge on target. Go now!"

The guards saw Supergirl coming, and opened fire on Uzis. It did nothing to stop her, of course, and she smashed into them, beating them up with the _maximum possible _amount of noise. Knowing she didn't have time to be annoyed—_yet—_Reaper flew at full-speed toward the windows of Kingsleigh's office, where the lights had just come on. She saw him look up at the sound of gunfire, and then fumble about in his jacket for the transporter. _No, no, no, no, no_!

She smashed through the window still moving at full speed, reaching out to grab Kingsleigh-

And encountered only empty air as he vanished with a burst of blue-white light.

A few seconds later, Kyra's voice came over her com-link. "_All the guards are down. Did you get Kingsleigh?" _

"Negative," Reaper growled. "He transported out. Where is she?" There was no need to elaborate on jus which 'she' Reaper was talking about.

"_Entrance of the building still."_

She cut off the link, and stormed down to the front door of the warehouse, blowing through them with a scythe-shaped exploding batarang, just so that no one could mistake how utterly and _completely _pissed off she was. Michaela Kent, however, refused to look phased as Sarah let rip.

"How do you not fall down more? I mean, your ability to walk has always surprised me, but now I'm _stunned _that you know how to talk, since you've obviously _never _learned how to listen!"

"It was a stupid plan!"

"Oh really? Is that why Kingsleigh is now _not _in custody? Oh, no, wait, that's _your _fault, since you weren't _listening_!"

"I can listen just fine!" Michaela snapped.

"Yeah?" Sarah asked, nodding. "Then it's just that you're too much of an imbecile to grasp even the simplest of instructions?"

"You're overreacting, Reaper!" Supergirl yelled. "We'll get another chance!"

"Not for _weeks_, we won't! Now Kingsleigh knows the League is out to get him and will be on his guard! And because of your irresponsibility, days worth of planning and _thousands_ in League resources went down the drain! This is entirely your fault, Supergirl! Get the hell out of my city!"

Her tirade done, Sarah shot upward. No one was stupid enough to follow her, not even Nicky, though she would have waited a little longer before chewing him out. No doubt he was back with the others, trying to teach Michaela that one had to fly _up _to reach the Watchtower.

Half an hour later, after preventing a couple armed robberies and a mugging, Sarah was much calmer. Beating up scumbags was wonderfully cathartic. Perched on top of St. Thomas More Cathedral, she sighed, shaking her head. Supergirl really needed to learn. Yes, their parents were the Founders, but they wouldn't _always _be there to clean up their kids' messes. Well, Mom would, but out of the others not even Uncle Clark was immortal like she was. Kryptonians just lived longer than normal humans, yet another perk given to them by a yellow sun. Nonetheless, eventually the second generation would have to stand alone—Supergirl wasn't even trying to prepare for that.

Her com-link beeped, and Kyra's amused voice came through. _"Chilled out yet?"_

"Marginally."

"_Up for helping me with a little revenge?"_

"On who?" Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow under her mask.

"_Zippy and Turbo,"_ Skyhunter growled, her voice dipping into anger.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You can't _still _be mad at them."

"_The hell I can't! I haven't been able to look Green Arrow in the eye since they… Urgh, I still can't even say it"_

Sarah chuckled. "Alright. I'll be your master-strategist."

"_Was hoping you'd say that. Meet me at the Metrotower?"_

"I'll see you in the commissary in ten."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	5. Temper Temper

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, and thanks to my brilliant beta, Angel Queen. **

**Chapter Four—Temper Temper**

She did make it in ten minutes, surprisingly. Sarah sipped methodically on her iced mocha, doing her utmost to ignore the high-pitched giggling across the Metro Tower cafeteria. She was pretty sure nearly everyone else in the room was doing the same, though with a little less success. "So," she said, "let's review. What are we doing here again, Kyra?"

Kyra Stewart looked up from her salad incredulously. "We're getting the Flash twins back, remember?" she demanded. "They took my diary, copied it, and splashed the pages all over the Metro Tower _and_ the Watchtower!"

"I believe they only copied the pages where you describe Michael Queen as a 'total dreamboat'," Sarah commented.

Kyra glared at her. "Beside the point. The brats invaded my privacy and no one does a damn thing about it!" she snapped. "I can't get justice from the so-called adults around here, so I'm taking matters into my own hands."

Sarah heard Nicky's laughter join the giggling, but steadfastly refused to react to it. Draining the last of her iced mocha, she then said, "Honestly, Ky, if you–"

"Oh Nicky, you're _hilarious_!"

Sarah's hand curled into a fist, crushing the empty paper cup in its grip. "She _didn't_..." She turned and glared across the suddenly-silent room.

Michaela Kent and Nicholas Wayne sat at what practically the entire League referred to as the Dating Table, the table that only couples sat at because it provided some measure of privacy. In this case, though, Michaela's soprano tones pretty much negated any illusions of solitude. Everyone could hear her. She had Prometheus had been 'dating' – screwing around – for a few weeks now.

Sarah glared at the half-Kryptonian bitch and then turned to look at her twin brother. He never let anyone call him Nicky but her. Not even their parents called him that. It was Nick to everyone else. Or Nicholas from their grandmother when she was exasperated with him, not that that happened often either.

He wasn't correcting her. Hell, he was _grinning_ at her like a moron.

Sarah growled and stood up.

"Reaper?" Kyra asked hesitantly. Sarah looked at her best friend and saw the scandalized expression on her face. She'd heard it too.

"I'm leaving," she said abruptly. Pushing her chair back under the table, Sarah stormed out of the cafeteria, ignoring any and all stares thrown in her direction.

She needed to kick some ass, now, and since beating the bottle-blonde's face in was not an option – too much paperwork and too many complaints from the adults – scumbags in Gotham were her best bet.

Technically she wasn't supposed to go out into Gotham alone, none of them were, and she definitely wasn't allowed to do it without letting anyone know, but that logical part of her brain had been shut off a while ago, lost in Sarah's sense of outrage and betrayal. She knew it was ridiculous, and probably beyond childish, but the bond between she and Nicky meant a hell of a lot to her. The idea that she'd apparently been wrong in thinking it was the same for him too, if he was just allowing anyone to call him Nicky. And _Michaela_? It was almost enough to make her feel sick.

Reaching the transporter room, she keyed in coordinates for the top of the WE building and vanished without saying a word to anyone. Gotham's cold night air welcomed her, cool on the exposed part of her face. It did nothing to calm her temper. Heading in the direction of Crime Alley, she bared her teeth in a fierce grin when the sound of gunfire reached her ears. One, two, three shots. Possibly a police officer – three shots to the heart to take the target down, or maybe, if she was lucky, some scumbag who thought no one would be around to stop him.

She was lucky.

It was an armed robbery of a liquor store on Seventh, one gunman and one terrified shop owner. The criminal was shoving a canvas bag at him, yelling at him to fill it with the contents of the cash register. Reaper took a few seconds to analyse the situation and come up with a plan, then went into action.

She threw a batarang through one window, which left a deep cut on the back of his hand but didn't, unfortunately, make him drop the gun. It did distract him long enough for Reaper to smash through the opposite window and swing through it. He brought the weapon up again, got off three wild shots, none of which hit her or the shopkeeper. He wasn't given another chance to fire – her foot hit him squarely in the centre of the chest, knocking him off his feet and into a row of refrigerators. He was up a few seconds later, proving himself tougher than most; this time he came at her with a broken bottle, swinging wildly. She ducked the first thrust, shoving his wrist up and causing the glass to fly out of his hand. Tightening her grip, she straightened his arm and slammed her fist into his elbow. Not meant to bend inward, it broke with a resounding crack. He let out a shriek of pain before she introduced his face to the counter. Unconscious, he finally slumped to the floor.

She looked at the clerk. "Are you hurt?"

"N-no. Thank you. I called the police on a silent alarm, but –"

"Their response time is six minutes on average; they won't be here for another three." She bent and handcuffed the would-be robber's hands together, then hog-tied him. "He won't wake up in that time."

"And what about the gun?" He bent to pick it up from behind the counter – Reaper was gone by the time he looked up.

She hadn't gone far, though – only two blocks away, there were the sounds of a scuffle in an alleyway. She arrived via the head of one of them, making him collapse like a concertina. There were three other muggers as well as the unfortunate couple they'd picked to rob. Two of them had knives, one of them a long chain which he threw at Sarah, aiming to wrap it around her neck. She threw up her forearm to block it, which the thug had apparently been expecting – he dragged her forward to where his friend was waiting to stab her. It would have worked, had her dad not designed the suit she wore to give her enhanced strength. Instead of working to his advantage, all she had to do was yank her arm back. When he stumbled forward, falling over, she brought her knee up. His nose broke, and then it was two down, two to go.

They attacked at once, one in front and one behind. She twisted at the last second, letting the one in front of her stab his friend in the shoulder. Behind them both now, she threw him into the other guy, knocking them both to the floor. While he went flying head-first against the brick wall, the one with the shoulder wound still somehow managed to get to his feet again, and get in one more wild stab before she took him down.

Hearing sirens in the distance, she left the highly relieved couple behind and shot into the air to the safety of the nearest rooftop, breathing hard. Rare she actually got that much of a challenge nowadays. _Wow, I actually feel dizzy… Really dizzy. Why…?_ And not only dizzy – she was in pain, too. What in Hera's name?

She put a hand down to her stomach – when she brought her hand up again, the black fingertips of her gloves were wet with blood. "Oh _fuck_," she whispered. That last stab had obviously hit home.

With that realisation, the dizziness and pain increased tenfold, and blackness started to crowd the edge of her vision. There was a lot of blood too. Way more than was good. Her legs no longer holding her, Sarah collapsed to her knees, fingers fumbling clumsily at her belt. She just about got the distress beacon out, pressing the button at the same time as the world went dark.

* * *

Nick whistled cheerfully as he walked down the corridors of the Watchtower. His sparring match with Jonathan had gone pretty well, and his earlier date with Michaela had been awesome. He hadn't known she had such a cute sense of humor.

The voice of Green Arrow – Michael Queen – came over the intercom, interrupting his thoughts. _"Prometheus to the Monitor Room immediately. Code Red emergency!"_

Nick's eyes widened. Code Red – life threatening. Taking flight, he raced to the elevator. He punched the appropriate button, and he rose quickly to the Monitor Room. He hurried over to the computer. "What is it?" he demanded.

Queen pointed to the communications system. "Message from the Cave."

It was a typed message, brief and to the point.

_Reaper injured. Come home. —M_

Nick's blood ran cold.

* * *

Sarah knew she wasn't dead – because she hurt, mostly in the stomach area. _Right. Stabbed. _She had a massive headache as well, and she'd probably look like a ghost when she woke up properly. _Which I should probably do – Mom and Daddy will be going nuts…_

"Oww..." Sarah slowly swam up to consciousness. "Son of a..."

"Sarah?" Bruce was at her side in seconds, penlight ready to check her pupil dilation as soon as she opened her eyes. "Sarah, look at me."

She did, squinting her eyes open, then immediately shutting them when her father turned the tiny flashlight on. "Ow! Daddy!"

"How are you feeling?" he asked, ignoring her protests. "Any pain?"

"Only localised," she said.

"Dizziness?"

"No."

"Nausea?"

"No."

"Headache?"

"Nope." She opened her eyes fully and smiled reassuringly at him. "I'm okay, Daddy."

He nodded finally. "Alright."

She squeezed his hand. "How much blood did I lose?"

"Just under one and a half litres," he told her. "Luckily Terry was on hand to give you a transfusion."

She turned to Terry, who was looking slightly pale himself, and smiled. "Thanks, Terry."

He nodded. "No problem." With a small wince, he drew the needle out of his arm and then swung his legs over the side of the table. "I should head home. It's almost sunrise as it is. If my mom catches me out of bed this late, she'll kill me."

"You should eat something before you go," Diana insisted. "You've just given away two pints of your blood; your sugar levels will be decreased." She opened a drawer in the medical cabinet and pulled out a couple of candy bars. "Eat one now, another when you get home."

Terry took it, inwardly rolling his eyes. _Hadn't realised I gained another mom when I took this job_. Nevertheless, he did as requested and wolfed the chocolate down in three bites. "Happier?" he asked with a smile.

She nodded. "And thank you again, Terry. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't–"

"But I did, and Sarah's fine," he interrupted gently. "I'll see you tomorrow at nine, just like always. Rest up, Reaper."

She smiled and nodded. "I will. And thanks again, kid."

Terry waved to them all and left the Cave. "Right, let's get this thing out of me," Sarah said cheerfully.

Her father's hand settled on top of hers. "Not yet," he said. "You're still looking pale."

"Daddy, I'm fine. Look at me, sitting up and everything."

"Humour me."

Sarah sighed and finally acquiesced, leaning back on the bed again. "So I take it Terry is O neg?"

"No, actually," her mother said. "He has the same blood type as you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? He's AB negative too? Huh. Of all the gin joints…"

"Transport me to the Batcave. Now," Nick snapped, running over to the transporter. Green Arrow, much to his credit, didn't ask questions, nor did he hesitate.

Within seconds, Nick was faced with the familiar sight of the Batcave. He immediately hurried over to the medical area, set up by Alfred many years ago and carefully maintained by the rest of the family even after the beloved butler had died. He quickly spotted his parents standing over two of the tables. They turned to face him as he approached.

"What happened?" he demanded.

His mother stepped toward him. "She's going to be all right, Nick," she assured him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "She went out patrolling, someone got a lucky shot in and stabbed her in the stomach."

Nick cringed. Stomach wounds, even in the age of modern medicine, were messy things.

"The blade didn't hit anything vital," Diana continued, "but she lost a lot of blood before Terry could get to her. He only just managed to stop the bleeding."

Nick looked past his mother. Sarah lay on one of the tables, pale as death, though awake, with one end of an IV hooked up to her arm. The other end led to an already empty examination table, that had supported Terry at one point, he assumed.

"Terry has the same bloodtype as Sarah," Diana murmured. "Thank Hera."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	6. System Shock

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! And again to AQ :D Right - I'd like to point out that this is chapter 5, and that the first two chapters were all Terry, so yes, it's Sarah again, but have _patience _- Nick's coming. **

**Chapter Five—System Shock**

Sarah sat up fully, putting a hand to her head as a rush of dizziness swarmed her vision briefly. It passed quickly though. She got up, and limped over to where her father was, over by the mini-fridge, pipetting a few drops of Terry's blood into a petri dish. He handed it to her silently, and she put a lid on it and placed it on the top shelf.

"I'll log it in the system later," she said. "It'll be good to have his bloodtype and DNA on file for future reference." Sarah attempted a wry smile. "Just in case we have a visitor from the League and they do something that needs them a blood transfusion."

The joke fell flat when both of her parents glared at her, Diana having just joined them. "Not funny, child," Diana snapped. "Don't think you're not in trouble just because you're injured."

"You know the rules, Sarah," Bruce added. "Terry may have been out, but neither he nor I had any clue you were even in the city until you managed to get that distress call out to us." He gave her a significant glare. "You were extremely lucky, but I want to know why you did it."

Sarah tightened her lips. She'd been pissed, that was why. Her brush with death hadn't erased what she had seen and heard back at the Metro Tower. Still, Sarah also knew that the excuse of wanting to beat a Kryptonian witch's face to a pulp for moving in on something that had been exclusively hers for her entire life wasn't going to fly.

Fortunately, she was saved from answering by her brother shoving past their mother to get to her. She was a little gratified he looked shaken. _Oh goodie_, Sarah thought sourly. _I suppose I should be happy that me nearly getting killed was enough to drag him away from sniffing around Krypto Girl's skirt._

She refused to let her anger toward him soften because her twin was looking almost as pale as she was. She didn't deny herself the little surge of vindictive pleasure she felt at his obvious worry, or the fact that he flew down rather than bothering with the stairs. "Sarah? Thank the gods you're alright! What the hell happened?" he demanded.

"Some scumbag got lucky," she answered shortly.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine."

Bruce sent a sideways glare at his daughter, which she deflected with a smile. He relented, and handed her a cotton-wool ball to press against the slightly bleeding pin-prink in the crook of her elbow.

"...is that it?" Nick asked dubiously. "You're 'fine'?"

"Yup."

She bent and got the sample of Terry's blood back out of the fridge. She walked over to the lab area, preparing to analyse his DNA with it. Or pretend to, at any rate. She just did _not _feel like facing her twin right now. "Okay, you're obviously not fine," Nick said cautiously, moving toward her.

Behind the twins, Diana gestured toward Bruce with her head, up the stairs. Quietly, the couple snuck upstairs, leaving their children to thrash it out. She didn't know what her son had done to annoy his sister, but she'd rarely seen Sarah that pissed off. Usually it was when Michaela Kent was somehow involved. Come to think of it...

"I do hope Nicholas hasn't done anything foolish," she said to Bruce once they'd made it to the kitchen.

"What makes you think he's done something?" he asked, moving over to the cupboards and pulling out some ingredients to begin dinner. Or breakfast, given that the sun was peeking just over the treetops outside. "Get the mince out of the fridge would you, Princess?"

"Just thinking about how angry Sarah seemed," she said as she opened the fridge. "Are you making what I think you're making?"

"Yes."

Diana got eggs out too. He was making meatballs – Sarah's favourite. Apparently his anger at her disobeying the rules by going out alone had faded in the face of his relief. Diana could understand that. Over the years she'd gone through this scenario many times; first with her husband coming back from Gotham injured and then with her children, and it never got easier or less dreadful when it did happen. And the relief never felt less glorious.

Bruce passed her the herbs, and she set about forming the meatballs while he prepared the sauce. Both of them had an ear out for shouting coming from downstairs, but so far there was nothing. So far.

* * *

Nick folded his arms and glared. "Why didn't you tell me you were going patrolling?"

"It's nothing I can't handle," she said shortly. "Dad used to do it all the time, and Terry was out too."

"Yeah, but... I could have come with you," Nick pointed out.

"Well, I thought Smallville might be more your scene," she snarled. "That's where all the Kryptonians hang out, right?"

Not giving him a chance to reply, she got up and pushed past him, putting Terry's blood sample back before heading up the stairs. Nick put a hand to his forehead. "Tell me this is not about Michaela," he groaned.

"Oh, it's not about Michaela, _Nick_."

That made him stop. What? Everybody else in the world called him Nick, but coming from Sarah it just...sounded wrong. Seeing that she hadn't stopped stomping up the stairs, he lifted into the air and landed in front of his sister. "Since when have you called me Nick?"

"Since _she_ started calling you Nicky," she spat, shoving him out of the way. And off the edge of the stairs. He wasn't sure if she'd remembered he could fly.

He hovered in the air for a moment, cursing himself inwardly, and then went after her.

Sarah was able to get upstairs to her bedroom relatively quickly, though her stomach was aching by the time she did so. Still, her seething anger was enough to make the pain bearable enough that she didn't have to go back down to the Cave for painkillers. Getting a shower was out, so she settled for grabbing a few washcloths and cleaning herself up as best she could. Checking her bandages one final time, she then changed into a t-shirt and shorts, intending to just collapse in her bed.

That is, until the intercom by her door went off. Raising an eyebrow, she walked over to it and opened the channel. "Yeah?"

"_Sarah, come eat something_," her mother said.

"Mom, I'm not really hungry."

"_You were just stabbed, young lady. You need to keep your strength up. Get down here. We have meatballs._"

She perked up a bit. "Oh. Okay." Not even bothering with her slippers or robe, Sarah padded barefoot out of her room and back toward the stairs. As she came back down to the first floor, her nose picked up the familiar scent of meatballs. Her stomach immediately began to growl.

Sarah grinned and kept moving toward the kitchen, ignoring the continued ache in her abdomen. Coming to a halt in the kitchen doorway, she leaned to the side and crossed her arms. "You do realize that it's seven-thirty in the morning and you're offering me meatballs?" she asked wryly. "Alfred would be having fits."

Daddy was setting plates and utensils on the table while Mom was at the stove, keeping watch over the simmering sauce. Dad snorted knowingly, but Mom said, "Well, you probably would have ignored me if we'd cooked anything else. Meatballs are the one food that would get you down here."

Sarah rolled her eyes, but didn't deny the charge. "I'm getting predictable," she grumbled, then moved forward into the kitchen.

As Diana began spooning the concoction onto a plate, she asked, "Where's your brother?"

Sarah speared the first meatball with her fork before it had hit the plate. She stabbed it with her fork, using perhaps a modicum more force than was necessary, but then she was imagining it was Michaela's head. "Kansas probably," she replied sourly.

Dad sat opposite her with a frown. "Kansas?"

"Oh yeah – he and Superbitch are an item now," she said in falsely-light tone. "Pass the parmesan."

Diana's shoulders slumped slightly; she knew it had to have something to do with Michaela. "How long has that been going on?" she asked.

Sarah snorted. "With Nick, who knows? A month, two? It could have been going on for less than a day and he would have been able to charm his way into her panties. Of course I wouldn't put it past her to let every guy into her panties," she added in a mutter, "who –"

"Sarah!" Her mother's sharp reprimand cut through her insult.

"Sorry." Sarah returned to her food, figuring she'd made her point. "Officially, they've been together two weeks."

"So why did it take you till now to get so pissed off you decided to try and kill yourself?" Dad asked. "And for that matter, why have you suddenly begun calling him 'Nick'?"

"Well apparently 'Nicky' is now Michaela's pet name for him," she spat, lip curling.

There was a silence from both her parents. Sarah looked down at her plate. She didn't really feel like meatballs anymore. She did feel like going to punch Michaela in the face, but unless she took the Kryptonite ring out of the vault – something she knew not to do unless there was an emergency of 'Superman's gone batshit crazy again' proportions – that would really hurt. She pushed her food around, feeling increasingly like she was six years old again.

Suddenly Nick appeared in the doorway, looking decidedly out of breath. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you! Would you not run off when I'm trying to–"

"Thanks for dinner, Mom, I think I'm going to eat it upstairs." She kissed her mother on the cheek, then picked up her plate, stopping to repeat the gesture for her dad. "Night, Daddy."

Nose firmly in the air, she marched straight past her brother without looking at him, and without acknowledging the fact that she'd probably need more painkillers before she went to bed, as her wound was burning quite badly now. "Sarah! Would you just talk to me?" Nick implored, following her. "Look, I'm sorry about–"

Sarah reached her room, put her plate down on her desk and glared at him. "I'm tired. Get out."

"No, not until you let me apol–"

"It doesn't matter, Nick!" she snapped. "It's none of my business who you let call you what. It doesn't matter."

"Yeah, but it clearly does matter," he argued, "since you're really upset–"

She held up a finger. "Oh, angry. Never confuse angry with upset."

"Why are you so angry, it's just a nickname–"

"No, Nick, it's not about the fucking moniker, she can call you 'sack of shit' for all I care! Whatever makes you happy and gives you the strength to stand her company for more than thirty seconds," Sarah said, her voice increasing in volume with each sentence. "Just tell me one thing. Of all the vapid, shallow, dimwitted, air-headed, brainless bimbos you've dated, why does she get to be the one who calls you Nicky? You've never let anyone else call you that. Not Mom, not Dad, not Dick or Tim, or even Alfred when we were kids! And all of a sudden Miss Girl Scout appears and–"

"Maybe Michaela's different to the others!" he protested. A blatant lie, they both knew, but when under attack his automatic reaction had always been to fight fire with fire.

"Good!" Sarah yelled. "Then move to Smallville and have a dozen kids and listen to her dulcet tones calling you 'Nicky' all day every day, because–"

"Argh! Ok, Sarah, I get it, I'm sorry!" He stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he repeated in a softer tone. "I know it's our thing, and I should have realised it would hurt you if I let Michaela use it too. Truthfully... I didn't really notice."

"How can you not notice?" she asked sadly.

"I don't know. I just didn't. I won't let her or anyone else call it me again, I swear. I'm sorry, Sarah."

Finally she nodded. "Apology accepted."

He hugged her gently, remembering her injury. "Oh, but do me one favour?"

"What?"

"Never call me 'Nick' again. Coming from you it just sounds weird."

She laughed. 'Deal."

He let go of her, then dived immediately for one of her meatballs. Sarah slapped his hand away. "Get your own!"

"Haven't you ever heard of sharing?" he teased.

"Not when it comes to meatballs I haven't! Get your own, Mom and Dad made loads!"

"Alright, I'm going, I'm going!"

Alone now, Sarah tucked into her dinner/breakfast with gusto, slurping down the spaghetti and scoffing the meatballs whole. She would never have eaten Alfred's meatballs like this, of course, but as much as she loved her parents, these _weren't _Alfred's meatballs. There was only one person alive in the whole world who knew that recipe, and she was in this room. She'd let secrets of national security out before she'd leak that recipe, and woe betide anyone who tried to steal it. However, these meatballs were wonderful just the same, even if _wonderful_ wasn't _perfection_.

Leaving the pasta bowl on her nightstand, she blacked out the window and crawled into bed. Exhaustion wasn't slow to follow her, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

…and was woken up what felt like five minutes later (apparently six hours according to her alarm clock) by her cell blaring. Deciding to ignore it, she waited until it went to voice mail and closed her eyes again. She was too warm and too comfortable to wake up now.

A few minutes later, she heard the house phone ring, and it was followed by her mother's soft knock on the door. "Sarah, are you awake? Kyra's on the phone–she sounds worried."

Sarah extended an arm out of the duvet, not bothering to even uncover her head; Diana chuckled and pressed it into her hand. "Hey Ky," she yawned.

"Finally_! Are you okay? Mike said you'd been injured and that Nick just ran off without saying how bad you were-_"

"'Mike' is it now? Looks like you don't waste time."

"_Be serious, Sarah! I was worried here!_"

Over the phone line, she heard another voice; male, deep. Stomach-twistingly familiar. "_Is that her? Is she alright? Lemme talk to her!_"

"_That's what I was asking, Rex, you can have the phone after I'm done, just hold _on_ a minute, would you? Jeez!_" Kyra spoke again. "_So? Details, Sarah!" _

"I'm fine. Just a small stab wound. It'll heal pretty quickly, and I'm not in much pain or anything."

"_You got _stabbed_? How did you let that happen?_"

"I didn't _let _it happen," Sarah bristled. "I might've let my temper get the best of me. But I'm fine, I promise."

"_Yeah well you better stay fine. I'm coming over tomorrow with chocolate and chick flicks. Fastest way to heal._"

Sarah grinned. "Alright. I'll see you tomorrow."

"_Yeah. Okay, Rex, she's all yours!_"

Sarah found herself very glad that over a phone line she couldn't be caught blushing. When Rex's voice came over the line, she had to throw back the duvet, now too warm. "_Sarah? How you feeling?_"

"I'm alright, honestly. It hurt at the time, I'll admit that."

"_Nothing vital got hit?_"

"Nope. Just a lot of blood. Got messy, and I needed a transfusion. Terry stepped in."

"_Batboy? Remind me to thank him next time he's on the Watchtower._"

"Why should you have to thank him?" she asked, knowing that she was grinning stupidly right about now. "Oh, and I wouldn't call him that to his face."

"_Oh I don't know – maybe you're right. Saving the life of one of my best friends isn't exactly anything special,_" Rex replied dryly, and she could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

She laughed. "Alright, you can thank him. You coming with Kyra tomorrow?"

"_You mean for the chick-flick marathon? Gee, tempting as that sounds, Sarah…_"

"…you'll see me in the Metro or Watchtower?"

"_Pretty much_. _Take care, Sarah. Try not to get stabbed again._"

She rolled her eyes. "Noted. Bye, Rex."

"_Bye._"

Putting the phone down, she stretched languidly and glanced at the clock. It really was time she got up. She had things to do. Most pressingly track down Kingsleigh all over again thanks to Supergirl. And, of course, put Terry's DNA into the computer.

After changing her bandages with some supplies she kept in her room, Sarah dressed and grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen on her way down to the Cave, then booted up the computer and initiated the search programme she'd written to track Kingsleigh down the first time. It should still work; it was based on tracking the faint radioactive pulses that any League technology gave off. Obviously every League member had a com-link and transporter – some also had mother-boxes now – and obviously they were all known to Reaper and her family. All the computer had to do was to track down a piece of technology that didn't have a corresponding Leaguer attached to it.

While it was busy doing that, she moved over to the lab area and got Terry's blood out of the fridge. She'd analysed so many blood-samples over the years that she worked automatically, not really paying any attention to what she was doing. She looked up when the computer beeped, signaling that it had found an anomaly. Two, in fact. One was in the deepest Amazon rainforest, the other was in Dubai. She'd bet her ridiculous trust-fund Kingsleigh was in the latter location.

"Gotcha, you bastard," she muttered, grinning evilly.

The grin vanished when the computer programme working on her second task also beeped. She frowned as she looked at the screen. "DNA match found?" she read. "What in Tartarus…?" Had Terry's parents been criminals at some point or something? Didn't seem likely – at least not what she knew of Mary McGinnis. Maybe Warren had had a record in his younger days?

She sat down and clicked on the result, bringing up a new window. Her jaw dropped. "Great Hera! That's _impossible_!"

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	7. Life: Interrupted

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! And thank you to AngelQueen for the beta. And for those of you complaining it was all Sarah, this chapter is in Nick's POV. Enjoy. **

**Chapter Six—Life: Interrupted. **

Someday Nick was going to get permanent retina damage. No matter how many _dozens _of times a day he had his photo taken, the massively bright flashes of cameras never failed to make his eyes sting, whether it was the paparazzi or hysterical teenage girls wanting a photo with the hottest bachelor in America.

He knew Dad and Sarah saw their life as celebrities as a necessary charade at best, but Nick had never tried to hide it—he enjoyed it. It was great to get fast-tracked to the front of lines for clubs, get free tickets to movie premieres and the unlimited use of the Wayne Enterprises private jet. Yeah, he could fly himself, and yeah he had the invisible jet and Javelins, but it was hard to join the mile-high club in one of those. One of the reasons he and Michaela had gotten together in the first place, he suspected, was because it was an ambition for both of them to do it in the Javelin. And if wasn't one of her ambitions, then she'd certainly gone along with it with…enthusiasm.

But he liked the life. He liked the girls and he liked the special treatment and the parties and everything else. It wasn't his whole world, and of course if push came to shove he would chose Prometheus, but still—it was fun. And Nick was twenty-two—he saw no reason why he shouldn't have fun. Only he was sure Sarah could give him one or two reasons not to…or a dozen…

Never mind.

The girl behind the camera looked at the image she'd just taken, then grimaced. "Aw, the colour's all _wrong_!"

"It's alright," Nick grinned easily. "You can take another one."

"Ohmigod you are just the _best_!" she gushed, before reaching out and collaring a passer-by. "Hey, can you take a picture of us?" She shoved the camera into his hand without waiting for an answer, and then wrapped her arm tightly around Nick. Which then descended for a quick squeeze—one part of the star-life he wasn't so keen on—once the photo was taken.

As she went squealing off to tell all to her friends who-were-just-_not_-gonna-believe-this, Nick's cell rang. Caller ID said it was Sarah.

"Hey. What's up?"

"_H-hey. Um, where are you?_"

Her voice was shaking. Why was her voice shaking? "I'm in the city—are you alright? Is it," he lowered his voice, "is it your wound? D'you think you're getting an infection or something? Is it still bleeding?"

"_I'm fine, Nicky, it- it- I've found something. You really need to come home. I can't tell Mom and Daddy, it- It doesn't even make sense, it's impossible, I–_"

"Okay, Sarah, calm down," Nick said quickly, seriously worried now. He'd never heard his sister so upset before, or at least not in sixteen years. She wasn't even making sense now. "I'm on my way home—you in the Cave?"

"_Yeah. Nicky, hurry." _

"I will."

He'd come into the city in one of his father's Lambourghinis, thankfully, so it wouldn't take him long to tear home. He managed to keep to the speed-limit until the outskirts of Gotham—after Sarah's stunt with her bike, Nick didn't dare get caught speeding; Dad might just lose it—and after that the roads were pretty quiet. Nick put his foot down, and going at speeds that, if he crashed and was an ordinary human, would certainly have killed him, managed to get to the Manor in less than twenty minutes. Neither parent seemed to be in when he got there, so he flew up the stairs and into the library without fear of his mother's disapproval.

When he entered the darkness of the Cave, it took him a moment to find Sarah. Eventually he spotted the brightness of her blonde hair. She was sat in the computer chair, but a good fifteen feet from the computer, curled up in it, her chin on her knees.

"Sarah, what is it? What's wrong?"

She pointed at what was onscreen. "That."

He crossed to it and looked at the result. It didn't seem all that unusual to him—DNA match to both his parents. "So this is you or me? Why the hell's that got you so freaked out?"

She shook her head. "It's not you or me," she said quietly. "It's Terry."

"What?"

"I put Terry's DNA into the database, and it ran the normal checks. The results matched him with Mom and Dad. I cross-checked it three times with other programmes, and they all gave out the same result. Somehow…and I have no idea how…Terry is their son. Our brother."

"That's impossible," he said flatly.

"Science doesn't lie, Nicky. Half his DNA comes from Mom, half from Daddy."

"But–"

"Yeah."

"That _can't_-"

"No."

They both stared at the result for a very long time. Nick's mind raced—not at the speed of Sarah's, he suspected, but it raced nonetheless. There were too many questions. First possibility: their parents had accidentally conceived Terry and given him up for adoption. Second: they had somehow…forgotten about Terry's birth. Third: there was some other insane answer.

He looked at Sarah. "What do you think?"

"I don't know what to think," she said, shaking her head. "Except that we need to tell Mom and Dad. Only they could have an explanation, if there is one."

"I agree." Nick reached for his cell phone again, but then stopped. "Sarah…what if they _don't _know anything about this? They wanted another child so much, you know how…"

"Yeah," she said softly, her eyes suspiciously bright. "I remember, Nicky."

"We'll just have to make sure Mom's sitting down before we tell her. And that Dad's pacemaker's working properly. Maybe both of them are restrained."

She didn't even crack a smile, but then Nick hadn't expected her to. It wasn't a joke. Opening the cell that Sarah had custom-built for him for their last birthday, he dialed Wayne Enterprises and got through to his father's private line.

"_Wayne_."

"Dad, it's me."

"_You're not at Police HQ are you? Because, so help me, if you are–_"

"No. Sarah and I are both fine, Dad, but you need to come home. As soon as you can."

His father's voice sharpened. "_Why? What's happened?_"

"Nothing's happened. We've found something, that's all. Something you and Mom need to see."

A brief pause. "_Alright, I'm on my way._"

"Thanks, Dad."

Sarah was at the computer, sending a typed message to Diana, on monitor duty on the Watchtower. She waited for a reply and then turned to her brother. "She's on her way home. Daddy?"

"Yeah, he's coming too."

By unspoken mutual consent, they both turned to sit at the computer again, staring silently at the screen. "Theories?" Nick asked.

Sarah nodded. "A few."

"Like…?"

"Magic is one possible explanation."

Sarah's voice held none of the contempt for magic and the gods that their father's so often did—Nick might be the one with his mother's powers, but Sarah was the one who shared every other aspect of Diana. She was equally devout in her faith and allegiance to the gods as their mother was, and the two women often worshipped together, observed festivals and holy days as well. Sarah might not have been blessed by the gods—and Nick wasn't entirely convinced that they hadn't bestowed some less-obvious gifts on her—but Hera, Persephone (Sarah's namesake), Aphrodite, Artemis and Hestia were never left out of her prayers. Athena, especially, was her favourite—and obviously her most benevolent patron. Sometimes Nick was sure his sister was actually channelling the goddess of wisdom and war. Her intelligence certainly could not be doubted, and he'd never met a tactical genius to equal her. If she thought they had something to do with the impossibility of Terry, then she would equally think they had a good reason for it.

"And if it's not magic?" Nick asked.

"Science. And the list of people with the resources to do it isn't long."

"Who's on the list?"

She shook her head. "Wait till Daddy gets home."

Their parents arrived a few minutes apart, with Diana touching down in her jet, landing alongside the batwing. She got out looking worried. "What is it, what's happened? Are you both alright?"

Sarah had switched the computer screen off as the invisible jet had come into the Cave, and she got up to greet her mother with a reassuring hug, which Nick repeated. "We're both fine, Mom, I told you. We just found something…"

"Highly unusual," Nick completed.

"Exactly."

"What is it?"

"Daddy's not back yet."

Even as she spoke, they all heard the clock entrance open, and the steps of Bruce coming down the stairs. He moved fairly quickly, obviously unnerved by the tone of his son's voice over the phone. He arrived in the Cave and looked at his wife. "You don't know what this is about either, Princess?"

"Not a clue." She turned to the twins. "Well? Now that your father and I are both here–"

"You should sit down."

Sarah nodded in agreement. "Yeah."

Now looking more than a little concerned, Bruce and Diana sat. Sarah moved over to the computer. "I put Terry's blood into the database this morning, and the computer ran the usual tests and cross-references."

"It found something," Bruce said.

She nodded. Nick said, "We really hope you two have an explanation for this." Then he switched the screen back on and stepped back.

Both Bruce and Diana were exceptionally intelligent people, and Nick wouldn't have been surprised if his father hadn't already suspected it, so it didn't take long for them to grasp what the computer insisted was the truth.

Diana's mouth fell open, and she was the one to speak first. "Athena's mercy…how is that _possible_?"

"We don't know."

They all looked at Bruce, whose eyes glittered darkly. "You suspected," Diana said in a low voice.

"Not this," he shook his head, "but something. He picked up the techniques Sarah's been training him in remarkably quickly; quicker than she did, despite the fact I started training her at a younger age. And in his face there are certain physical resemblances between him and us. He doesn't look like Mary McGinnis, or Warren. I haven't pursued it any further than idle speculation."

They all nodded, knowing this would have come to light sooner or later. With Bruce, 'idle speculation' didn't stay idle for long.

"And there can be no mistake?" the princess pressed. "Terry is _our… _Our son?"

Sarah nodded. "Yes. All of his genetic material comes from the two of you."

Another silence, before Nick spoke. "So...the question is, do we tell him, or not?"

"No."

"Of course."

Both mother and daughter regarded each other in surprise. Sarah spoke first. "Mom, we can't. We can't risk it. There's no point in causing unnecessary trauma; Terry's lived his entire life without this knowledge, and things could deteriorate rapidly if he knows."

Diana remained unconvinced. "They could also get so much better! Sarah, we could be a family, a true family–"

"We're already a family," her daughter pointed out. "We have our family; Terry has his." She paused, wondering how to phrase it. "...I understand why you want to, but–"

"No, Sarah, you don't understand," her mother said flatly. "You don't. You have no idea how hard your father and I tried to have another baby after we got married. You have no idea how heartbreaking it was to fail, again and again. To know that you'll never–" She cut off, turned away with a hand over her mouth.

Bruce pulled her into his arms, rubbing her back softly and whispering words of comfort quietly. Sarah watched, hating that she'd made her mother so upset, but refusing to back down. Her eyes met her father's, and she knew he agreed with her.

Her mind drifted unwillingly back. Seven years old, about ten months since Mom and Daddy's marriage. She knew Daddy was thinking of the same thing.

**Sixteen Years Before**

Bruce methodically went through his work while on Monitor duty. Since the expansion of the League, he hardly ever had to take part in it—given the fact that he usually made up the schedules, he could _conveniently_ leave himself off it—but today he had actually agreed to take Wally's shift so that the he could accompany young Iris and Isabelle on a check-up and ice cream afterwards.

Not that Wally actually _admitted_ to ice cream after their check-up. Bruce just took that as a given. Wally was the type to bribe his kids with sweets so that they'd behave when the situation called for it.

Bruce didn't like to admit it, but he was actually _grateful_ to get out of the Manor, if only for a few hours. Diana's despair hung over the house like a cloud that just refused to disappear. Nick seemed to be going through a stage of wanting to make as much noise as possible, and Sarah was spending all of her time on either her laptop or the Bat computer, apparently indifferent to her mother's misery. Bruce had tried encrypting the Bat computer to keep her off of it—there were many files on there he hardly wanted his seven-year-old daughter to see, no matter how intelligent she was—but either she was breaking them each time or she had blackmailed Dick or Tim into giving her access. Bruce was leaning toward the latter, if only for the sake of his own ego.

The doors to the monitor womb slid open. Bruce did not turn around, but instead studied the reflection to determine who had entered the room. Even that simple exercise added to Batman's image of having eyes in the back of his head. He smirked inwardly. Doing this never failed to freak Wally out.

In this case, it was Vic Sage, who was actually supposed to relieve Bruce at the end of his shift.

"You're early," he commented.

"With good reason," the other man replied, his tone distinctly snappish. Bruce raised an eyebrow.

He watched Vic lean over and tap a few of the controls, quickly disabling the security cameras in the room. Bruce turned in the chair to face him. "What's this about, Question?"

Vic stepped back a pace, and Bruce took him in. The man wore his usual faceless mask and trenchcoat, but there was something in his manner that fairly screamed 'frazzled.' Unusual for a man thought to be as unflappable as Bruce himself.

"Your kid," Vic stated, "has kept me up for the past six hours trying to keep my files protected."

_Sarah, _Bruce thought immediately. What on Earth was she _doing_?

"She's a decent hacker," the conspiracy theorist continued, unabated, "I'll give her that, but she's not perfect at it. I detected her break-in and have been backing up and reinforcing my files ever since. She wouldn't stop! I finally got her onto instant messaging and demanded to know what the hell she was doing. She wanted to see if I'd found anything in the old Cadmus files that might help two people have a baby, of all things."

Bruce felt like he'd been sucker-punched.

"I was hardly going to tell a seven-year-old what I found in those files. Some of them sickened even _me_." Vic pointed at him, his finger tapping lightly on his Kevlar. "I'm warning you, Wayne. Tell that demon you call a little girl to stay out of my files, or I'll screw her laptop up so badly she won't be able to play _Pacman_ on it!"

Bruce nodded numbly, but didn't say anything more. He couldn't. _This _was what Sarah had been doing? She didn't not care about how upset her mother was; she was trying to help in the only way she knew how—using technology to do it.

The sudden urge to hold his daughter was overwhelming, swiftly followed by the urge to tell his wife that they had the most incredible children in the world.

When Bruce transported back to the Cave, he wasn't surprised to find Sarah scooted up close to the Bat computer, a pillow beneath her so she could more easily reach the keyboard. He watched her, and then flicked his eyes up to the screen. He recognized the instant messaging window. The screen names—WonderBat#1 and ? ? ? ?—made his lips twitch.

Sarah looked up when he approached. "Daddy," she wailed, "Uncle Vic says he's going to destroy my laptop! Make him stop!"

"Just tell him what happened when your last laptop was broken," Bruce told her, a little amused.

She stared at him innocently. "I had nothing to do with what happened to Goody Goody Kent's bear," she replied. "I already said–"

"Uh huh," he cut her off. Leaning over her, he typed, _Q, stop threatening her. The situation is being dealt with. Goodbye._

Not waiting for an answer, Bruce tapped a few controls, powering the computer down to stand-by. "Come, Sarah," he ordered, holding a hand out to her, "we need to have a talk with Mommy and Nick." In retrospect, his son's recent unusual behavior was beginning to make sense as well.

Sarah didn't hesitate to take his hand and hop out of the chair, but she eyed him curiously. "What's going on, Daddy?" she asked. "Am I in trouble for sneaking into Uncle Vic's files?"

He squeezed her hand and smiled. "No, Sarah, you're not in trouble. I just realised something today, that's all."

"What?"

"Wait till we tell your mother."

Her mouth twisted, and he knew she wanted to ask more, but didn't. He felt another surge of pride in her. An insatiable appetite for knowledge, tempered by patience. Definitely a good combination.

They got up to the Manor, and as soon as the clock slid back it was easy to hear where both Nick and Diana were – in the drawing room. Diana was yelling at her son. "...extremely old, Nicholas, it was planted more than a century before you were born! What in Tartarus were you playing at?"

Nicky's reply was inaudible; Diana's reaction to it wasn't. "You were _bored_?" she shrieked. "Would you smash one of your father's cars if you bored?"

Sarah smirked up at her dad as he winced, then pushed open the door. "What's happened?" Bruce asked.

"_Your_ son decided the uprooting the willow would be a good idea, because he was _bored_," Diana said furiously.

Bruce nodded seriously, and let go of Sarah's hand, taking his wife's instead. She frowned at him in puzzlement, but sat on the couch next to him.

"Kids, come here," he said.

The twins exchanged a look, but did so. Nicky looked totally abashed, but also strangely defiant. Sarah reached out and took his hand. Bruce looked at his daughter. "Sarah, why were you trying to hack into Question's files?"

She shrugged. "Because I wanted to try and help you and Mommy have a baby. I thought Uncle Vic's files might have some information that you could use, 'cause you and Uncle Vic's both like to know everything, but I thought there might be a part of everything that he'd discovered that you hadn't yet."

At his side, Diana's face was shocked. "Sarah..." she began.

Bruce shook his head slightly, indicating he wasn't done yet. "And Nick – why have you been acting up so much lately? The tree today?"

Nick looked at Sarah. She bit her lip, but nodded. Nick took a deep breath. "I was trying to make lots of mess and lots of noise," he finally said.

Diana rolled her eyes. "Yes, Nicholas, we got that much. _Why_ were you trying to cause so much disruption? Especially when you know how hard Alfred works to keep the house tidy–"

"I didn't do it to make things harder for Alfred!" he replied, looking horrified at the very idea. Even Sarah appeared scandalised at such a suggestion.

"Then why did you do it?" Bruce asked calmly.

Nick shrugged. Sarah squeezed his hand. "It's okay, Nicky," she said quietly. "Tell them."

He took a deep breath. "Well that's what kids do, isn't it? Make lots of noise, and mess and stuff... I thought if I did, then maybe–"

"Maybe Mom and I wouldn't want another baby?" his father supplied.

Nick nodded.

"It's not like we don't want you to have a baby, Mommy," Sarah said. "But you're really sad all the time. And me and Nicky...we don't like seeing you sad."

"Oh Hera," Diana whispered. "Children..."

"We're sorry, Mom, we just–"

"You're sorry?" Diana repeated. "Oh my little sun, there's nothing to be sorry for! Come here!"

Nick, not looking as though he understood at all, came forward, and was immediately engulfed in a hug by his weeping mother. He shot a slightly alarmed look at Sarah, who shrugged, looking to her father for answers. She came toward him and hoisted herself onto his lap. "Daddy? Why is Mommy still crying?" she whispered. "Is she still unhappy?"

"No, sweetie, I don't think she is."

* * *

It was quite clear that Diana _was _sad, though, and had been so for a long time. After a minute or two, Diana collected herself, though it was clear the rein she kept on her emotions was tenuous, and she kept hold of Bruce's hand. "Regardless of what I may feel," she said, "Terry deserves to know."

"I agree," Nick said.

"What are we hoping to achieve from this?" Sarah asked. "Terry has a family. He has his mom, and Matt, and he's happy. We're just going to tell him that none of that is real? Added to which, what about Matt? However this has happened, then it stands every chance that Matt is your child as well. He's eight years old, we can't screw with his life like that."

There was a silence, the two halves of the family at loggerheads. "We can't do anything for now," Bruce finally said. "Not before we know _how_ this has happened."

"So how do you think this has happened?" Nick asked.

"Given that Mom and Dad would definitely remember having two more children, I can see only one possibility," Sarah said.

Her father confirmed it. "Cadmus technology."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	8. Plan C

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! **

**Chapter Seven—Plan C**

Sarah nodded, agreeing with her father. "Waller, at any rate."

Diana tensed. "Waller?" she growled.

"We don't know that yet," Bruce said hurriedly.

"That _woman _took those boys from us?"

"Diana, we don't know that."

Sarah had never seen her mother so furious. "Bruce, who else would it be?" she exclaimed. "There's no one else who has the ability or resources to do it!"

There could be no arguing with that logic, and no one tried.

"Is there?" she demanded, looking from her husband's face to her daughter's.

"Not that I know of," Bruce admitted.

Diana nodded, her body tense with fury. "Then it was Waller. Waller did this. How _dare _she?"

When she shot into the air, apparently going to bypass the plane, Nick was ready, and went after her. He caught her at the entrance to the tunnel for the Batwing. "Mom, you can't just–"

"Let go of me, Nicholas!"

"No," he replied. "Mom, you'll kill her!"

Fifty feet below, Bruce wordlessly walked away, moving to the changing area. He might be getting on in years, but he still changed into the Batsuit in less than a minute. Sarah already had the Batmobile's engines turned on, though her eyes were still on the ceiling of the Cave. Nick seemed to be winning his battle with restraining their mother. Bruce got into the driver's seat, and within ten seconds, the Batmobile was gone, Reaper and the original Batman with it.

He didn't need to consult the GPS on the way to Waller's residence, making Sarah wonder how close the tabs he'd been keeping on the former Cadmus head were.

"Why?" she wondered aloud. "I agree it has to be Waller, but what's the motive? Getting DNA from you…probably wouldn't be too hard; you're spread all over Gotham, but _Mom_? How often does she bleed? And the genetic manipulation of Warren and Mary must have cost thousands, taken months if not years—why would she bother?"

"We'll find out," her father told her.

When they pulled up a block away from Waller's home, Bruce switched the car off and opened the canopy. "Give me thirty seconds."

She opened her mouth to reply, but the roof was already sliding closed. "Damn it, Daddy, I'm not one of your _Robins_," she muttered.

She gave him twenty, and ignored the narrow-eyed scowl he gave her when she caught up with him.

It was early evening, and he hadn't expected Waller to be in. She was definitely the workaholic type, that much he knew from experience. Their interests had always run contrary to each other, but that didn't mean there weren't instances where their methods were similar. Up to a point at least.

This was _not _one of those instances.

Waller was in, though, standing in the kitchen preparing dinner for one. It didn't surprise him she had no one, and nor did it stir up any sympathy. Again something he knew—no one ended up that alone unless they'd wanted it that way. He let himself in silently; Waller was bent over, head in a cupboard searching for something.

"We know."

She stood up without taking her head out of the cupboard, a string of swearwords the result. Batman didn't make a move to help her. When she did straighten, it was to find him six inches away from her, Batglare set to 'I'm-going-to-make-you-wish-you-were-dead' proportions.

Behind her, the kitchen window opened without a sound, and Sarah crept in, perching herself on the kitchen counter and taking up the ladle to stir the sauce bubbling away on the stovetop.

Bruce growled. "Terry. Now."

To her credit, she didn't try to immediately deny any involvement. "I've never been afraid of you before, rich boy, I'm not about to start now," she said dismissively.

"How do you feel about Amazons?" Sarah spoke up. It was gratifying to see Waller jump just before she spun around in shock.

She recovered well, pasting a smirk on her face. "I was wondering which Wonder Bat I'd get. Field trip is it?"

"I wouldn't be laughing if I were you," Reaper replied impassively. "Prometheus can only hold her down for so long."

"Really."

"Really. She's after your head, Mandy."

In all her sixty four years of life, Waller had never been addressed as 'Mandy'. It left her a little speechless.

Bruce resumed the reins. "We know that Matt and Terry are our sons. We just need the how."

"And I should tell you because...?"

"Because since Cadmus is gone, your security is significantly decreased," Sarah said.

Waller clearly disliked being surrounded. "It's still there," she snapped, crossing her arms defensively.

"Enough to withstand a direct attack from Wonder Woman?" she asked scornfully. "The odds are slim, trust me on that."

"And there really is no reason for us to stop her if you're being uncooperative," Bruce finished.

There was a long silence, during which Waller cursed the fact that she still, after all these years, could not tell what was going on behind Batman's cowl. And he'd trained his daughter equally well; Sarah's face was just as impassive.

"Fine," she growled. She had no doubt that they wouldn't let Diana actually kill her, but the same protection did not extend to her property and possessions. "I'll tell you."

There was a low noise from Batman that was easy to interpret as _you're damn right you will_.

Waller crossed her kitchen and moved into the living room, opening the laptop that sat on the coffee table. While they waited for it to boot-up, she sat down, rubbing her forehead. "I knew this fucking thing was going to bite me in the ass one day. Took _years_, and more money than federal budget puts aside for education. All for one—maybe two—scrawny kids. Hardly worth it."

Bruce frowned. "Then why do it at all?"

"I felt it was necessary," Waller replied somewhat evasively.

"Why?" Sarah asked. "It would have been cheaper and less time-consuming to–" She cut off, her mouth falling open as she stared incredulously at Waller. "It was you," she said quietly. "When Nicky and I were kids..."

On the other side of Waller, Bruce's fists curled. "That was you?"

The look on Waller's face indicated she was developing a conscience. She winced slightly. "I'm not proud of it."

"You're not proud of it?" He took a step forward, and demonstrated that while he may be getting older, he was still capable of moving far faster than expected. He had one hand around Waller's throat, and her pinned against the wall before Sarah could blink. "Do you have _any_ idea what we–"

Sarah put herself between her father and Waller. "Dad," she said quietly. "Let her go. It's over. Nicky and I are both fine."

Bruce didn't seem to be listening, and Waller was turning purple. "Daddy! Look at me! I'm here." Her hand touched his jaw lightly, forcing him to look at her. "I'm here," she repeated softly. "Let her go. She's not worth it."

He was still for another three seconds, then let go of Waller. "I should let Diana kill you," he spat at her. Without another glance at her or Sarah, he left through the open window silently.

"Tell me everything you know. Now." Reaper's tone did not leave any room for negotiation.

Waller stared at the girl, no, _woman_ in front of her, and then sighed. Rubbing her neck carefully, she slipped past Reaper and over to the computer. Slipping a disc into the drive, she began to copy and burn several files onto it.

"It took what happened with Lex Luthor and Brainiac for me to see that the Justice League really did have the world's best interests at heart," she said. "They weren't always right, but they were not seeking power to take over and become like the Justice Lords." Waller glanced at Reaper. "You _do_ know about the Justice Lords, don't you?"

Reaper didn't reply, just stared at her impassively. Waller decided to take that as a yes. She continued. "I spent the next several years content with that knowledge, though I did watch them carefully. One can never be too careful, especially with an enormous group of metahumans and only a few non-metas to stand as the group's conscience."

She sighed. "The years started to pass. I was very much aware that Bruce Wayne suddenly had a son and daughter, purportedly through a one-night stand with popular fiction writer Diana Prince." Waller snorted. "It wasn't difficult to figure out just who she really was. Still, sweet as it was, I didn't think much on you and your brother, at first. Babies aren't exactly useful in fighting global crime and extraterrestrial threats.

"But soon enough I began to see that things were changing. The Justice League was getting older, branching out and having families of their own. Shayera Hol and John Stewart, Wally West and Linda Park, Clark Kent and Lois Lane all had twins within the next few years after your birth." Waller chuckled. "I did hear that that coincidence did make your father pause, considering the odds of all four couples having twins."

"Stay on task, Waller," Reaper interrupted. "Everything you know about my family."

Waller pursed her lips. The girl was being deliberately rude...just like her father. Damn, but he really _had_ trained her well, better than she'd thought he would. "Watching the Justice League move on to different things worried me. The entire world counted on them to protect it, but few among the League were truly immortal. Soon they'd be too old to keep going. The Founders especially worried me. I knew that someday the League would need new leaders."

The computer beeped, signalling that the burning was complete. Waller took the disc out and held it out to Reaper. She took it wordlessly.

"Whether you believe me or not, I had come to greatly respect and admire your father. I watched him save the day over and over again with nothing but his wits, body, and will. Superman may have been the face of the League, the one the public looked to when they needed answers from the League, but your father was the true leader. The idea of the world being without him, without Batman, was unacceptable to me."

Waller forced herself to stare Reaper in the eyes. "So I decided to prepare a new one for when he grew too old. You and your brother were the obvious choices."

"Our genes don't define who we are, Waller."

The older woman shrugged. "At first, I thought only to clone the two of you, to start from scratch. I hired someone to get close to your father and obtain a DNA sample from both you and your brother. You might remember her...Selina Kyle?"

Reaper's hands twitched just slightly, but otherwise she said nothing.

"Whatever you may think of that woman, she loved your father in her own way. She saw how much he adored his children, and backed out of the contract. Would you believe she even returned every cent I paid her?" Waller leaned back in the computer chair, thinking back. "You already know about Plan B," she said. "It failed even more spectacularly than Plan A."

Reaper crossed her arms in front of her.

"Plan C was to ignore both you and your brother entirely-"

"Why?" Sarah demanded. "I don't have powers, I never will. Why wasn't I my father's heir?" Her voice didn't hold venom, but cold curiosity.

"Simply because you're female," Waller replied. "I'm all for female empowerment, as you can imagine, but statistically it's single white males who are the ones most likely to make the difficult decisions when the chips come down. Who opt for the greater good rather than appeasing their own emotions."

"Sacrificing the few for the good of the many?" Reaper asked. "And you think you know my father? He'd never sacrifice a single life, even if it saved the whole planet." _Except his own_, she added silently.

"Anyway," Waller continued, "statistically you weren't going to do what was necessary, so we still needed a replacement Batman. That meant creating a new life-form altogether."

Sarah glared at her, leaving Waller in no doubt that their views of what constituted 'necessary' were very different.

"I was able to obtain DNA samples from your father—not particularly difficult, since most of Gotham is stained with his blood—and your mother. That was considerably more difficult, but my contacts managed it. I then sought out a young couple that matched the psychological profiles of Thomas and Martha Wayne. When they came into their doctor's office for flu shots, I simply had them injected with a nanotech solution that rewrote their reproductive materials with that of your parents.

"About a year later, Terry McGinnis was born."

"Again, Waller, genes–"

"I know, child, I know," Waller interrupted irritably. "That's why overwriting Warren and Mary McGinnis' DNA was only the first phase. It takes more than DNA to make a Batman. Tragedy is an even more vital ingredient."

"And just add flour and water and bake at four-hundred for forty minutes," Reaper said snidely. Waller ignored her.

"I kept a close watch on the McGinnises after Terry was born. The boy had a very happy life—two parents who adored him, plenty of friends at school... and a huge love for the Grey Ghost, like any other child. Do you remember when _The Grey Ghost Strikes_ came out?" At Reaper's nod, she continued, "Terry was eight years old that year. His parents took him to see it as part of his birthday present."

Waller paused, watching the younger woman. Reaper caught on quickly, which didn't surprise her. "_No_..." she breathed, horrified. So much for perfect emotional control.

Waller nodded. "Yes," she said. "I ordered a hit on Warren and Mary McGinnis, giving the time and moment to do the deed—in the parking garage after the family had left the theatre. Sound familiar?"

Reaper didn't reply, but her fists were tightly clenched at her sides.

"There was just one problem—my assassin refused to pull the trigger. She told me that Batman was obsessive, that he would do anything to complete his mission, but he would never, ever resort to murder. She would not dishonor everything he stood for, and if I truly wanted someone to be like him, to embody his beliefs and ideals, I too had to step back and let nature take its course." She sighed. "So I scrapped the project, though I did still keep an eye on Terry and his family, just in case. About a year or so later, Matthew was born."

She gestured to Reaper's belt. "That disc has all of the information on it about Project Batman Beyond, as I liked to call it," she told her. "Everything I have on the McGinnises from the point that they first came to my attention to the day Warren McGinnis was murdered. My notes on the earlier incarnations of the project are there too, observations I'd made about you and your brother during your time in the Cadmus facility. Everything. Do what you like with it."

At first, the younger woman said nothing, just continued to stare at her. Waller fought the urge to squirm, hating that those eyes could still make her feel like a misbehaving child, even after over two decades.

"I'm only going to tell you this once, Waller," Reaper finally said. "Stay away from my family—genetic or otherwise." Then she was gone, out the same window her father had leapt from earlier.

* * *

Waller watched until her dark silhouette faded into the darkness. It didn't take long. When she turned back to her desk, though, it was to find two things. The first was a USB Flashdrive, plugged into the laptop. Retro stuff, but it would still do its job. The second thing was a note.

_Your hard drive is being disintegrated. I'll be watching you, Waller. Always._

_

* * *

_

**A/N: Review please!**


	9. Costume Party

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! **

**Chapter Eight—Costume Party**

The Batmobile was still sitting where it had been parked, in a back alley about a block away from Waller's home. Sliding into the passenger seat, Sarah looked at her father. It had been nearly three years since the heart attack and the family's subsequent pleading had forced him to hang up his cape and cowl, but it didn't feel strange to see him wear it.

"It's done?" he asked shortly.

Sarah nodded. "Yes," she replied. She pulled out the disc Waller had given her. "This is the last copy."

"Good." He started the engine and tore out of the alley. Within minutes they were doing at least eighty on a forty-mile-an-hour stretch of road.

"Have you radioed the Cave?" she inquired.

"Your brother managed to calm your mother down after we left," he said. "He pointed out that we would likely get more answers through questioning Waller than by having her simply show up and demolish her home." He sighed. "Then he talked her into drinking a cup of tea, only he put a mild sedative in it."

Sarah's eyebrows went up beneath her mask. "She's going to kick his ass the next time they spar," she said after a moment. For a metahuman, a mild sedative would probably be enough to take down an elephant.

Her father snorted. "No doubt."

They sat in silence for several minutes as they began to leave Gotham behind. As they grew closer to the hidden car entrance to the Batcave, Sarah spoke up again.

"Daddy, do you think... Are Mom and Nicky right? Should we tell Terry?"

He glanced at her before looking back at the road. "Why do you think we shouldn't?" he countered.

She stared at him. "Isn't it obvious?" she asked. "Terry's been a McGinnis his whole life. Mary McGinnis is his mother, and Warren McGinnis was and still is his father. The only way our biological relationship is important is for a note to be put in his medical records." She paused. "That, and his blood type's the same as mine, in case I get sloppy again."

He nodded, but did not speak, likely sensing that she wasn't quite finished.

"I know what Mom sees here," she continued. "A chance to touch what she missed out on, having more kids beyond me and Nicky, and I feel for her, I really do. I'm furious myself at having two more brothers hidden from me." Sarah sighed. "But the fact remains, Terry and Matthew are both McGinnises. They aren't going to give that up just because Mandy thought she had the right to play God with yours and Mom's DNA. Do we have any more right to lay this at Terry's feet?"

Bruce was silent until they'd gotten back to the Cave. He parked, but made no move to get out of the car. Sarah only waited. "So you see it as a burden," he said.

She shrugged. "It would be for Terry. There's nothing positive he could gain from knowing—we're already close, and even before she knew, Mom treated him as a son anyway. Adding that knowledge will only confuse him."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "So your concern is that he can't handle it."

"Yes," she said reluctantly. "Why? You don't agree?"

"Yes and no," he replied. "I think in the long-term he could handle it. He would realise that we're not trying to take Warren and Mary's places, and that we told him because he deserves to know the truth."

"The short-term?"

"I share your concern," he told her. "I think it would confuse and distress him, and temporarily he would pull away from us. During that time there's always the danger that something could happen, that we'll need him or he'll need us."

"Like if I get myself stabbed again and Nicky's not around?" she muttered.

He glared, but she'd summed it up in a nutshell. They left the vehicle, they were almost immediately met by a frazzled-looking Nick.

"Has Mom woken up yet?" Sarah asked.

He shook his head. "Not yet," he replied. He looked genuinely distressed. "She is going to be _so_ _mad_ when she wakes up."

"And with good reason," Bruce cut in sternly. "Drugging her shows that you didn't trust her."

Nick appeared stricken for a moment, but then he shook his head. "In all honesty, I didn't. Not when she was that upset." He rubbed his abdomen. "Not when she just about broke my ribs trying to follow you guys out of the Cave. I didn't want to take the chance of her deciding to follow you the moment I turned my back on her. Given how she was behaving, I had no doubt she would have killed Waller without hesitation."

Bruce stared at him for several moments, and then nodded and moved further into the Cave. Sarah and Nick followed close behind.

"Waller's been warned off," Bruce said out loud. "She won't like the consequences if she ignores that warning." He sat down at the computer and held out his hand to Sarah. She handed him the disc wordlessly.

"I want to know exactly what we're dealing with," he said as he put the disc into the computer. "That will keep us occupied until your mother wakes up."

They knew exactly when Diana woke up. It was when dust started being shaken down from the roof of the Cave. Along with splodges of guano that were attracted to Nick but seemed to be automatically repelled from Reaper and their father. "Uh, I think she might just smash through the floor," he said nervously.

No one seemed to be particularly concerned by that.

"Seriously, I have no desire to die at the age of twenty-two!"

Bruce got up, heading up the stairs and leaving Sarah to finish decrypting the information. She should have known Waller wouldn't let the data go that easily. Happily, though, Waller had underestimated Sarah's hacking ability. She was almost done with the last file. They'd learned how first her father's and then her mother's DNA had been collected, then how their genetic material had replaced the haploid cells in Warren and Mary McGinnis. This last file, Sarah thought, probably contained the files of possible assassins that Waller had considered using to kill Terry's parents.

Her father had gone very, very quiet when she told him that.

She hadn't yet told him about Selina, and they hadn't read the files yet, just decrypted them for later use. She herself was more interested in the files for Plan B, or 'Project Re-Genesis', as Waller had termed it. She had a feeling it was going to give her nightmares, but she wanted to know what had been planned for her and Nicky.

"You done yet?" Nick asked from over her shoulder. The string of numbers, symbols and binary onscreen meant nothing to him.

"Almost got it," she replied curtly, fingers not stopping. "Just need to crack... There!"

The numbers turned into words instantly—a lot of them. "_Hera_."

The twins looked at the screen for a moment—in the file for Project Batman Beyond there were more than fifty sub-folders, each succinctly and neatly titled. "What's that one?" Nicky asked, pointing to one labelled, 'Failures'.

Sarah clicked on it, and it came up with more folders—each with a surname on them. There were at least a hundred in all. "Of course," Sarah breathed.

"What? Who are all these people?"

"They're Waller's insurance," she said. "People who matched the psychological profiles of Thomas and Martha Wayne. She didn't just inject the McGinnises, it would be too risky. She must have injected dozens of couples with Mom and Dad's DNA."

"Wait, so there could be more kids like Terry and Matt out there?" Nick interjected.

"I don't think so," she said, pointing out the title of the folder. "Failures. The haploid cells must have been rejected by the host body. Warren and Mary McGuiness's bodies didn't. In fact it worked too well; Matt really was born with Mom and Dad's DNA, just like Terry."

Nick wasn't convinced. "What if Waller made a mistake?" he asked.

Sarah shared a concerned look with him. "I know, Nicky. I agree. There's no way for us to be a hundred percent sure that Mom and Dad don't have more than twenty children."

Nick didn't get a chance to say anything more when footsteps alerted them to the presence of others entering the Cave. Sarah quickly went back to the main file menu, determined to explore more of "Plan C", as Waller had so casually called it, later on. Turning in the chair, she watched her parents come down the stairs.

Her father looked much as he did when he had left the Cave, but her mother's hair was mussed, and there was a faint, red pillow print on her left cheek. That didn't even begin to cover her expression, though. Sarah could easily see that her mother was absolutely furious. She came to a halt just a few feet away and pointed at Nick.

"You," she growled, "are grounded, young man. That means no going out in the evenings, no hanging out at the Metro or Watchtowers, and no flying off to visit your grandmother and aunts on Themyscira. Got it?"

Sarah watched, inwardly a little amused, as her brother nodded rapidly. She had a feeling he was just relieved that Daddy had calmed her down to the point where she wasn't trying to punt him through a wall.

"Good," Diana snapped, then she turned to look at the computer screen. "What did the bitch give you?"

"A lot of information," Sarah replied. "It's going to take time to go through it all. We–"

The sound of the clock up in the study being opened cut her off. All four of their heads turned toward the entrance to the Cave, and within seconds, Terry appeared. He looked down at them and immediately his eyebrows went up. He slowed for a second, but then kept coming down the stairs. "Hey," he greeted as he approached them. "So, Bruce, you reliving the good old days or are you heading for a costume party?"

Sarah winced. Daddy hadn't changed out of his costume yet. And the files that pertained to Terry's very existence were still up on the screen. Slowly, she turned in the chair and began to close the windows. She then ejected the disc and slipped it back into one of the compartments on her belt.

Terry, of course, proved that he'd been learning when his sharp eyes caught her movement. "Oh, so this is one of those Wayne-family things that I'm not allowed to know about yet."

Sarah and her father exchanged a glance. They only had themselves to blame for teaching him to be so observant. "Not quite," Nick said.

Terry raised an eyebrow in question.

Sarah gave in to the urge to punch her twin. "Nice going."

"What is it?" Terry asked.

"Well it _was_ your surprise party," she said, thanking Hera that Terry's birthday was coming up. "Of course now it's just a party, thanks to some big-mouthed idiot who can't keep his trap shut!"

"Right...and you have to write a computer programme to plan a party?" Terry asked, a little incredulously.

"Miss Anally Retentive over here does," Nick muttered.

Much to their relief, Terry's face relaxed into a grin. "Ah right. Rule 1: always have a plan."

"Exactly," Sarah said, standing up and sweeping past her newfound brother and ascending the stairs.

As she left the Cave, she heard Terry repeat his question to their father. Bruce's voice was deadpan when he replied. "Costume party."

* * *

**A/N: Review please! **


	10. The Reason for the Sex Talk

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! And CC, enjoy this :D and thank you for the idea. **

**Chapter Nine—The Reason for the Sex Talk**

This was probably the second most surreal, uncomfortable experience of Terry's life. The first had been his dad giving him the sex talk at age thirteen. Over the dinner table. In front of his mother.

This, though, this came a close second. Bruce, Diana, Nick and Sarah were all looking at him; Nick and Diana with sympathetic looks that indicated he might be dying of some horrible terminal disease; Bruce and Sarah as though he'd explode at any time. Though thankfully they'd at least decided to get it all out in the open. These looks had been going on for weeks. He'd been about ready to resort to some of those interrogation skills Bruce had started teaching him recently.

Diana cleared her throat. "Terry, we have something to tell you. And it's going to be a bit of a shock."

He raised an eyebrow. "What's going on?"

"You remember that your blood type was a perfect match for mine?" Sarah asked.

He nodded.

"We ran your DNA through the computer," she said.

Nick took over. "Terry...it matches Mom and Dad's."

Diana squeezed his hand. "Genetically...you're our son, Terry."

He looked at Bruce, received a nod in reply_._ _Oh my God oh my God oh my God…_

"I know it's a lot to take in–" Diana began.

"You think?" he asked, eyebrows around his hairline. "I mean… Are-Are you sure? There couldn't be a mistake or a malfunction on the computer–"

"We ran it twice," Sarah said. "Once in the Cave, once on the Watchtower. I even checked both computer systems for malfunctions. It's true. I'm sorry, Terry."

"Sorry?" he demanded. "What does this even mean? Why would you even think I needed to _know_?"

Sarah glanced over at her mother, something like _I told you so_ flitting across her features. Luckily, Diana wasn't looking at her. Her eyes were still on Terry's face. He forced himself to be logical about this. "Okay. _How_?"

"Cadmus," Bruce told him, his voice deep and flat as ever. There was no way to tell how he felt about this; if he wanted Terry to know, the teenager had no doubt he'd tell him later. "It was a secret government taskforce originally set up to control or take down the Justice League. It was headed by a woman named Amanda Waller. Apparently over the years she gained a grudging respect for us–"

"–more specifically, Batman–" Sarah dropped in.

"–and decided that the League's non-meta members would act as a better check than any government initiative. But she also realised that Batman, Green Arrow, and Question couldn't operate forever. In Green Arrow's case it wasn't a problem; Michael Queen didn't inherit any of his mother's meta abilities."

"But Nick does," Terry pointed out after a moment.

"Exactly," Sarah nodded, taking over. "Waller was convinced that no meta could be trusted," she said, and then her expression turned distinctly sour as she continued, "and for some reason the fact that Olivia Sage and I are female meant we could be disregarded, so she took genetic material from Batman and Wonder Woman, then combined it with nanobots. Your parents thought they were getting flu shots. In actual fact they were having their reproductive material replaced."

Terry nodded, a thought striking him. "Wait—_all _their reproductive material?"

"We think so, yes. So Matt is probably the same."

There was a crushing silence.

Terry stood up. "Okay, I need to think about this," he said shakily. "Please, don't follow me?"

"We won't," Nick promised.

Terry made it to the clock in the library before giving in to the curses fighting to get out. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…"

Now safely in the Cave, he forced himself to stop and take several deep breaths. "Okay, Terry, you can handle this. Think it through."

Except _what _was there to think through? If this had been April 1st he'd have thought this the most brilliant prank ever, but it wasn't. He even checked just to be sure. Nope. June second. _Jesus_. It was actually true.

And if it was, he had to see it for himself. Yanking the chair close to the computer, he brought up the database, typed in his name. And there is was, in black and white, completely irrefutable. He mentally went through the processes that Sarah would have gone through; the forensic tests and everything else. She would have done it at least three times. There would have been no room for any mechanical error, and the idea of a _human _error was laughable. No _way_ Sarah would have screwed something like this up.

It wasn't even, he thought, as though he'd been told he was adopted. His mom had still given birth to him, his dad had still been his _dad_. And Matt?

_Need to collect a DNA sample. Blood. No, that would be too hard to get. Hair. Get hair, test it. Chances of a DNA test being wrong are less than point zero three percent. _

With a sudden surge of self-disgust, he shoved away from the computer. God, it was in his head. He was thinking like… Like…

"Batman," he muttered.

There was the sound of the clock opening up the stairs. He guessed it'd be one of the twins, and sure enough, Nick came down into the Cave. "If it helps, Sarah and Dad didn't want to tell you."

"Oh, well that makes it all better!" Terry retorted. "If they didn't want to tell me, why did they?"

"Mom wanted to. You know Dad…he'd do anything for her."

There could be no refuting that; the way they looked at each other sometimes was nauseating. Silence again, before Nick said tentatively, "Nothing has to change, Terry."

"The hell it doesn't! If nothing had to change, that you wouldn't have wanted to tell me. Diana wouldn't've. You both obviously want things to change–"

"That's not why," Nick said stubbornly. "You needed to know the truth, that's the only reason I wanted you to know."

_So not the reason Diana did then_. "Ever heard the saying 'ignorance is bliss'?" he snarled.

"That's not the way it works in this house. Truth is always above everything else, you know that."

Yeah, he did.

There was another long pause, where neither of them said anything or looked at the other one. Finally Terry let out a laugh. "God, I've lived my entire life related to the richest family in America. I mean, not even just rich but as _famous _as you too—how many times have I seen you on TV, how many times has Sarah been on magazine covers, and I had _no_ idea… Oh my God," Terry suddenly muttered, turning away and putting a hand to his mouth.

Nick frowned. "What?"

"I, uh..." He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly. "I had the biggest crush on Sarah when I was a kid."

To his credit, Nick's face stayed straight for a whole five seconds before he started cracking up. "It's not funny, it's disgusting!" Terry protested.

"Yeah...but it's hilarious! You… You…" Giving up on speech altogether, Nick sank to the floor laughing.

"Would you _stop_? Jeez I feel _sick_!"

"Well of course you do. You've had dirty thoughts about your _siiiiiiister_," Nick sang.

Terry hit him. "Cut it out! It's not like I knew!"

No reply except more laughter. Eventually there was nothing Terry could do except join in. It was interrupted by Nick's cell phone ringing shrilly. He took it out of a pocket and grimaced at the Caller ID.

"Not someone you wanted to talk to?"

"Michaela."

"Thought you two were…?"

"We were. Are. Sorta. Not anymore really."

The phone continued to ring. "Ordinarily I'd be with you on the not-speaking-to-ex-girlfriends thing, but considering this ex could punch even you through a dam…maybe you should answer it."

"Yeah…" Nick looked at him, blue eyes very direct. "You going to be okay?"

Terry shrugged. "Not for a while—but eventually."

"Good. Thanks, kid. And I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Nick smiled, then opened the phone. "Hey Mick. What's up?"

* * *

"Dad?"

His father didn't look up. "Mmm?"

Nick sighed, and took the paper out of Bruce's hands gently. "I'm– I'm in some trouble."

A condemning—it seemed to Nick—greying eyebrow was raised. "What kind of trouble?"

If he didn't get it out now, he never would. Taking a deep breath, Nick blurted it out. "Michaela's pregnant."

There was a long silence, during which his father did nothing but stare at him. Nick couldn't hold it, try as he might. When he looked away at the floor, Bruce spoke. "And you want me to help you break it to your mother and sister?"

Nick nodded, his own eyebrows raising. "Yeah. But–"

"But what?"

"Aren't you going to give me the 'how could you, you stupid, irresponsible–"

"Do you want me to?"

Bewildered, Nick shook his head quickly. "No, I was just expecting… Aren't you even going to do the 'you have to do the right thing' speech?"

Bruce stood. "I should. But I trust that your mother and I raised you well enough to know you should do that anyway."

"True," his son sighed. "Then, yeah, I need help with Mom and Sarah."

Suddenly there was a smirk on Dad's face. Nick couldn't imagine which part of this situation he was finding amusing. "What's so funny?" he asked testily.

"You knocked up Superman's daughter, and you're scared about telling your _sister_."

"_Not _funny, Dad! Uncle Clark knows me almost as well as you do, he knows I'm not about to run away from my responsibilities. Sarah, on the other hand..."

"Is going to want to disembowel you?"

"Exactly," Nick groaned. He flopped down on the couch, staring blankly around the room before burying his face in his hands. "She's never going to forgive me."

"She will," his father assured him. "In about fifty years or so."

"Fifty _years_?"

"What are you worrying about?" Dad asked, another smirk on his face. "You've got all eternity, remember?"

"Is that supposed to be comforting?"

Bruce put a hand on his son's shoulder. "Don't worry. She won't understand, and she will be mad, but equally, you're her twin. She loves you. She'll forgive you."

Nick nodded. "I know."

"Now seriously—what's the situation between you and Michaela?"

"We're not really even together anymore," Nick told him. "It was amicable, so there's no problem there. Don't think either of us want to get back together again. I just... I wasn't ready for this, Dad."

"Neither was I when your mother fell pregnant. I don't think anyone really is. It gets easier. You just have to remember that the most important thing now is your child. How far along is she?"

"About six weeks. She went to the doctor yesterday."

"Then you have the better part of eight months to get your head around the idea. And you also should prepare to be her slave for the duration of the pregnancy. Her hormones will be insane."

"How do you know?" Nick asked. "Mom spent the majority of her pregnancy on Themyscira."

A shadow of sadness and anger passed over Bruce's face. "I know. But I had to help Vic come up with a decent sardine-flavoured ice cream when Helena was pregnant with Olivia. We both had to dodge crossbow bolts when it wasn't right."

"_Sardine_-flavoured? Gross!"

"And I wouldn't make any smartass comments about her cravings either," Bruce said, now looking distinctly amused. "Clark made the mistake of doing that with Lois and practically had to go into hiding at the Fortress of Solitude for a week."

"At least Sarah doesn't have a crossbow," Terry's voice commented from the doorway.

Nick jumped into the air, and didn't quite make it down again, staying about a foot up off the floor. "Damn it, that is _not _supposed to be genetic!"

Terry was wearing a smirk identical to the one on Bruce's face, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes that came straight from Diana. "So Michaela's pregnant, huh? Guess that renders my blackmail material useless."

Nick was almost afraid to ask. "…blackmail material?"

"Well, put it this way—if Diana ever sees what you and Michaela got up to in the Invisijet, I _think _you'll have to buy her a new one, since she'll take one of her shiny battleaxes to it. And then probably to you."

"Great. Choice between dismemberment via my mother or disembowelment via my sister. Wonderful. I'm going to bed."

"Not before telling your mother, you're not."

* * *

It was about seven thirty a.m. (three days later; he still hadn't found the courage to tell Sarah) when his cell phone rang, shattering the fuzzy cocoon of sleep. In a daze, Nick groped around on the nightstand for it, squinting at the caller ID. Tim. He pressed _accept_.

"Not that I don't wanna talk to you, but what the hell are you doing phoning me at this hour?"

"I'm just helping you practice," came the grinning voice of his older brother. "Baby's going to be waking you earlier than this."

"Baby–?" Nick let out a long sigh. "Dad told you."

"Yep," Tim replied, sounding insufferably cheerful despite the early hour. "Still terrified?"

"Completely."

"Sarah still in the dark?"

"Yeah. Mom and Terry know now. But I mean it's _Sarah—_she knows there's something going on, but so far she doesn't know what. I was going to tell her later today. With the rest of the family there."

"What, for an intervention?" Tim laughed. "If she wants to hurt you, no one's going to stop her, you know that."

"I know, I know…"

"Well I have a free day today—want me to bring Jack over, get her in a good mood?"

"Yeah," Nick nodded. "Actually, yeah, that's a really good idea! Thanks, Tim, I owe you." Jack was Tim's oldest—and so far only—son, and at five years old, he was the apple of his Auntie Sarah's eye.

"Yes, yes you do. In fact you can make it up to me by babysitting for the next nine months."

"It's a deal. Want to come over for lunch? I can make meatballs."

"God, you really are scared about what she'll do, aren't you?"

"See you later, Tim."

Tim laughed cheerfully in a way that made Nick want to stab him in the eye. "Bye, Nick."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	11. The Demon's Daughter

**A/N: Thank you to my lovely wonderful amazing genius of a beta, Angel Queen. She just made the story about a million times better. And thank you for the reviews! **

**Chapter Ten—The Demon's Daughter **

Sarah stared broodingly at the screens in front of her. She was supposed to be on Monitor duty for another half-hour, but she couldn't claim she was paying any attention to what was going on on the Earth's surface. She was monitoring Gotham as well of course, but her mind was on something else: her family. They were hiding something, she just _knew _they were. Well, she was as well with respect to Terry, but this was something different. Some secret Terry knew about as well—the kid's constant smirk these days gave it away—and it was driving her insane. She had gotten to the point now where she was debating which of her family members would be most likely to crack under interrogation.

Daddy certainly not, and she wouldn't do herself the indignity of even trying. Mom likewise, though she could always steal the Lasso of Truth... No, if Mom didn't ground her for that then the gods would have something to say about the sacred weapon being used to satisfy Sarah's own curiosity and impatience. Which left Terry or Nicky. She doubted Terry would crack; he'd seen her interrogate criminals so often now that it would have little effect, and he had a core of steel in him that most of the people she put under pressure didn't, just like Daddy did. Nicky...would crack eventually. She'd have to get pretty heavy of course, but if it got answers out of _someone_...

The doors hissed open behind her, another masked, black-clad young woman coming in. Olivia smiled. "Hey."

"Huntress."

"How was Monitor duty?"

"Fine. There was a bomb found in Central London, but the local authorities took care of that without the need for League assistance. I have patrol—you'll be alright here?"

"Yeah. I'll see you later, Sar– Reaper, sorry, _Reaper_. Gotta remember that."

Sarah nodded stiffly, but didn't reprimand the teenager as she would have done anyone else—Iris and Isabelle came strongly to mind. Olivia very rarely made mistakes, after all. She got up and left the Monitor room, heading for the hanger in which the batwing was parked.

When the turbo-lift arrived, Warhawk was already inside. He smiled as she entered, but once the doors were shut they spoke at the same time.

"Long time no see–"

"So how are you–"

Chuckling a bit, Sarah grinned. "You go first."

"How are you?" he asked. "How's your stomach?"

"Like new."

There was a white flash from under his helmet as he grinned. "I'm happy to hear it. Kyra was, uh, worried. You know."

She nodded, keeping a straight face while her heart glowed inside her chest. "Yeah. Well you can tell her I'm fine."

"I will. Mom and Dad were concerned too of course."

"Of course. But not you."

"Nah, I knew you'd be fine."

"I know. On the phone you betrayed no worry whatsoever," she smirked.

He grinned again, then hugged her as the turbo-lift stopped at her floor. "I'm really glad you're okay, Sarah."

"Thanks. See you later."

"Take care."

She was careful not to look back as she left the turbo-lift, but she was well-aware of how hard and fast her heart was beating. For one second, she allowed her imagination to do what it was begging to do; in her minds' eye she was back in the confined space, pressed between him and the wall, his mouth on hers, his hands in her hair and–

_That was two and a half seconds_, a voice spoke up sternly. Sighing, she touched her com-link.

"Reaper to Prometheus and Batman—I'm on my way down now."

"_Roger,_" came Terry's voice, "_we're already patrolling. At the docks—something's going down, you might wanna get here fast._"

"I'm about seven minutes away. Reaper out."

She ran to the plane and jumped in, gunning the engines whilst cursing the fact that the Watchtower didn't have a geostationary orbit. They were over Europe, which meant she had the whole Atlantic to cross. It took her just over seven minutes before she saw the lights of Gotham and hit autopilot. She opened the canopy and jumped out, flying the rest of the way to the docks with her suit powering it.

She pinpointed the other two watching from the roof of a warehouse, watching a small cargo ship being unloaded. She landed quietly next to them. "What's happening?"

"Not sure—we heard gunfire from Crime Alley, and when we got here it was the security guards who'd been shot. We can't tell from here how many of them are dead," Prometheus told her.

"Thermal imaging shows they're all warm," Terry continued, "but they were shot very recently. Some of them could still be alive."

"We need to find out," Sarah said, activating the vision-enhancement on her mask. Instantly, the shadowed activity happening on the ship jumped into clear focus. She was aware of Terry doing the same next to her.

There were about two dozen men running around on the ship moving large crates around, but only a few of them had guns; most were dressed as ninjas, short swords strapped to their backs but otherwise unarmed. She was willing to bet they all had more concealed somewhere. Absently, she touched her abdomen. The wound had almost healed by now, but she still didn't want to add to her collection of scars just yet. However, if she had to choose two people to be here and back her up, it would be the two young men next to her.

She noted how many people were there, their positions and was working out a plan of attack when someone else emerged from below decks. A woman, about thirty, she guessed, slim and very pretty with dark hair that covered one eye–

"Hera. Is that _Talia al Ghul_?"

Nick nodded, his own vision not needing any mechanical enhancements. "Batman, she's–"

"Daughter of Ra's al Ghul, one of old man's worst enemies from way back. She helped the original Batman fight Ra's one last time back in the Apocalypse of 09. For the last couple of decades she's been putting her father's money to work cleaning up the mess he made. Current residence is a two-hundred-acre estate on New Cuba."

There was a long silence as both twins stared at him.

"What?" he asked testily. "Did you think I was spending all those hours in the Cave playing vid-games?"

"Well," Reaper said, trying not to chuckle at his tone, "if her estate is in New Cuba, just what the hell is she doing in Gotham?"

"Let's go find out."

She nodded. "Batman, throw a batarang to hit as close to Talia as you can get it. She'll recognise it and hopefully we'll be able to find out what she wants without violence."

Terry nodded, pulling out the projectile. He took aim and threw it in a perfectly straight line; it hit the doorway, just about a foot above Talia's head and stuck there. They watched her reach up and pull it down; a soft, wistful smile that made Sarah's bile rise graced her mouth. Then she turned to the night and said something that both she and Terry read off her lips.

_Hello, children. Come down, and we'll talk_.

"Terry, you stay here in case this is a double-cross. Prometheus and I will go down and speak to her; warn us via com-link if you see anything suspicious."

"Gotcha."

"P, come on."

They flew down together, ignoring the singing hiss of swords being drawn as they landed in front of the demon's daughter. "So I finally get to meet Reaper and Prometheus," she said, in a smooth, slightly-accented voice, raising her hand to wave off her guards. They slid back into the shadows, acknowledging her silent order. "You both have quite a reputation already, considering your young age." She paused to look past them. "Is that the younger one? The one who has literally taken up your father's mantle?"

"Get out," Reaper said flatly, ignoring her question about Terry.

"What if I've come to Gotham to continue my charitable works?"

"You brought armed guards with you," Nick said. "Doesn't scream 'philanthropy'. Leave."

Talia's eyes grew a little cooler, but she still continued looking at the two of them as though she were impressed, her smile now sad.

Prometheus kept glancing between her and Reaper. He was very well aware that his sister had absolutely no use for their father's former lovers. She had made _that_ abundantly clear years ago when Selina Kyle had appeared in Gotham for what would be the last time. Talia, though, looked conflicted as she stared at them.

"Don't blame us," Reaper said abruptly. "Blame your father, and blame yourself for following the asshole over the man you loved."

Talia started, and then glared at the younger woman. "You have an impudent tongue in your mouth, child," she said coldly. "I see your father did not cure you of it early on."

Reaper snorted. "Please, my father has a mouth that is ten times worse than mine." She took a step forward. "I suggest you vacate Gotham, Madam al Ghul. There is nothing for you here."

Talia shook her head. "I have business here, child." She gave Reaper a stern look. "You would do well not to hinder me. I have killed people for doing less."

Now Prometheus stepped in. "That is why our father turned away from you for good," he told her. "Killing is unacceptable."

"Besides," Reaper added, "kill us and he will never forgive you." She smirked. "Added to which, I'd like to see you try."

"Your last warning, Talia," Prometheus said, not wanting to see this deteriorate into a catfight. "Leave Gotham. Don't come back. There's nothing for you here."

For a moment, Talia didn't move—then she gestured towards Reaper. "Take off your mask, child."

"Why?"

"I wish to see your eyes," was the simple answer.

Prometheus frowned. "I don't think–"

"It's alright, P," his sister interrupted. Her hand came up, sliding the mask off. Her eyes narrowed at Talia. "You're different from the others," she said quietly.

The demon's daughter nodded. "And you are your father's daughter. I believe...if I had chosen differently...you would have been my daughter too."

It was the wrong thing to say. Sarah lifted her chin, every inch the Amazon. "My mother is Diana of Themyscira. The only woman worthy of my father. The only one to ever truly love him. I am the daughter of both of them, and nothing like you."

The gaze Talia directed her way was appraising. "Not yet," she corrected quietly. She turned to Prometheus. "I will leave. And I will not return, you have my bond."

Nick had no idea what had just passed between his sister and this woman, but he did not let the puzzlement show on his face. Instead he only nodded. "Alright. Then go."

Talia left, her violet eyes lingering on Sarah's face for a long while. For half a second, he thought his twin looked shaken. Then she slid the mask back down and became Reaper again.

The twins stayed long enough to see Talia and all her men back on the ship and sailing away from Gotham. Somehow Terry—without their noticing, which impressed Nick no end—had gotten the three security guards still living to the hospital in the Batmobile, and then returned while they were supervising Talia's departure.

"Let's hope that's the last we see of her," Nick said as the ship headed toward the horizon.

"It will be," Sarah said softly.

Terry landed next to them. "Did I miss anything?"

"No. She agreed to leave after we negotiated with her."

Terry's cowl showed no reaction, but Nick believed he had come to know his younger brother well enough to sense his curiosity. Still, Terry seemed to sense that Sarah wanted no questions at the moment, so he said nothing further about it and changed the subject.

A few hours later, the three of them returned to the Cave. Nick quickly spotted his parents standing at the computer, looking up at the screen. His father didn't turn, but asked, "How did it go?"

"Nothing huge," Nick reported. "A gang of Jokerz were attempting to cause their usual chaos."

"And?"

"They won't be doing so for a while," Nick said.

Terry spoke up. "There are rumors at school that they might be looking to recruit new people. Kids mostly."

The ensuing silence in the cave was not a comfortable one. Nick watched both of his parents' expressions close. "We'll keep an eye on them," he reassured them.

"Good," Bruce said shortly, "Also–"

"Talia al Ghul decided to pay Gotham a visit." Reaper's voice was cool and utterly professional. Nick suppressed a shiver.

"We spoke to her and warned her that remaining in Gotham would be detrimental to her continued good health," Reaper stated. "She eventually agreed and has promised to leave and not return." Without waiting for a response, she moved toward the changing room, pulling her mask off as she went.

Well, Nick thought, this is uncomfortable. But however uncomfortable it made him being around his mother when his dad's old flames were brought up, Nick knew his sister well enough to know when something else was bothering her. However, he also knew that to tell his parents that would only lead to Sarah beating the crap out of him.

Nick resolved to hold his tongue.

* * *

He needn't have worried; once Diana, and Nick were upstairs, Terry at home, Sarah came out of the changing rooms. She sat next to Bruce and updated her logs, then stopped for a moment, silent. Finally she spoke. "Daddy?"

He glanced at her. "Yes?"

"Will you tell me about Talia?" she asked quietly.

He stiffened, then looked at her. He knew she wouldn't have asked without a good reason, and waited for her to explain.

"She said...she said that...I was like her. Or– or that I would be like her." When she looked back up, her eyes were scared. He cursed Talia inwardly—no one had the right to frighten Sarah. No one. "What did she mean?" she finished in a whisper.

He shook his head. "Sarah, you are so far from Talia al Ghul it's untrue. You have nothing in common."

"Really?"

Bruce smiled, brushed a strand of hair from his daughter's face. "I promise."

She smiled, looking much happier. "Thanks, Daddy."

Her father's reassurances were no help, though, at six a.m., when she woke, gasping, after a nightmare. Like most dreams, now that she was awake, there was little she could grasp to analyse. Except for Talia's words.

Yet.

What the hell did that even mean? Had the Demon's Daughter somehow been implying she'd been like Sarah once? Focused on her duty, on doing what she saw as the right thing? She couldn't have started evil, surely?

Suddenly, Sarah saw what a slippery slope she was on. She abruptly sat up in her bed.

She had loyalties to both Gotham and the League. What if she had to choose?

She'd never been in a situation where it was her family or her friends. That could easily change in the life she led.

She wasn't in love with Rex – yet. And when she was? When the choice came down to her own 'beloved' and her duty? Her… Her father?

"That can't be allowed to happen," she whispered. She would not become Talia al Ghul.

So: what to do about it? She forced herself to be cold-blooded about this. Obviously, Rex had to be the first casualty. She'd have to purge herself of romantic feelings for him. He was a friend from now on, that was all. An ally to call on if she needed help. Two—she should start withdrawing from the League. Design it so that more of the Watchtower and Metro Tower systems could be automated. Move Reaper from full-time to part-time member. League duties were geared more toward metahumans like Nicky, anyway.

Gotham was home. It was where she belonged, her city. It deserved everything she had. Everything she was.

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	12. Battleships

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! **

**Chapter Eleven—Battleships**

Unfortunately, Sarah's resolution to back away from the League didn't quite go as planned. Within days, the League had come under a deluge of attacks and cases, requiring everyone on deck. There had been an avalanche in Tibet, another bomb in London, and a concentrated Intergang attack in Metropolis. She could hardly pull away with all of that going down.

At the moment, though, it was the attack on Metropolis that was causing problems. Or rather, the aftermath.

"Sarah," Diana pleaded, watching her daughter pace furiously and clench her hands repeatedly, "calm down. Please. There's nothing you can do about it now–"

"Nothing would _need _doing now if someone had listened to me in the first place! Get out of the way, Mom! The Founders have wasted enough time–"

"Reaper!"

Sarah's mouth snapped at the tone of voice that issued from her father. "Without adequate proof other than your suspicions, you understand perfectly why no action could be taken before now."

She nodded curtly. "I understand."

"The League needs as many metas with super-strength as possible; it's by far the most useful weapon we have, as well as the most commonly used."

"I understand."

There was a pause, and then even League protocol and the original Batman's opinion could keep her silent anymore. "No, you know what, I _don't_ understand. I can cope with Uncle Clark, I can; he's a good man, and years around you two have instilled some good sense into him, but that _idiot _may as well be the Hulk for all the tactical intelligence she displays. She almost cost Warhawk his _life _because she's incapable of following a simple order, not to mention–"

She cut off to yet again push down the picture of Rex's vibrant green eyes gone lifeless and cold. Damn Michaela! When the Intergang attack in Metropolis started, among the Leaguers dispatched to deal with it had been Supergirl and Warhawk. Facing Giganta, Michaela had decided that the best way to deal with the giantess was to bring an entire skyscraper down on her—_without _checking to see if it was occupied or not. It had been occupied by only one person: Rex, in there to make sure all the civilians had been safely evacuated. He had literally been impaled on a thin steel girder that went right through the left side of his armor and chest, narrowly missing his heart. As it was he had a dislocated elbow and a punctured lung. He'd also had to undergo surgery to stop internal bleeding.

Sarah, on patrol at Gotham at the time, had only been told of what had happened on returning to the Cave. She was now fighting tooth and nail to get back out of the Cave and up to the Watchtower. Though whether it was to see Rex's condition for herself or to shove Supergirl out an airlock was anyone's guess, even her own.

Her father spoke. "What are suggesting, Reaper? That we remove her from the League?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "I understand that her father is one of the Founders, but even taking into consideration she's the second-strongest Leaguer—or close to it—she is more of a danger than an asset. Until she learns that simply charging in like a bull in a china shop is _not _always the best course of action, she can't be counted on! At the very least she needs to be put on probation and go through tactical training before she can resume missions."

"Is that your recommendation too, Prometheus?" Diana asked.

Nick looked decidedly uncomfortable, and shifted slightly. "Sometimes...she doesn't always stick to the plan..."

"Thinking on your feet is a useful skill too," Bruce noted. "Improvisation has saved my life many times."

Sarah scoffed. "You're assuming she does any thinking at all. There's a difference between improvisation when the plan goes wrong and not following it from the start." She forced herself to calm down. "If the mission is to break down walls, or beat bad guys to within an inch of their lives, then yeah, Supergirl is the right choice. But the League is not a collection of thugs, it's an organization entrusted with a serious civic responsibility. I understand that, Nicky does, Rex, even Jonathan understands that, and we're all valuable members. Michaela is a menace. She can't be controlled—except with Kryptonite—and all she brings to the League is a pretty face and super-strength. Neither of which we are in short supply of."

There was a silence. She'd raised good points, not that Nick wanted to admit it. "Perhaps we should discuss this further," Diana suggested.

Sarah wasn't having any of it. "How about _you_ 'discuss it', Mom, I've said all I need to." She turned and moved to the Batwing, climbing inside and sitting in the pilot's seat.

"Where are you going?" her mother asked.

"The Watchtower. To check on Rex," was the short answer.

Once she'd gone with barely a whisper of noise into the night, Diana turned to her son. "Does she like Rex? Romantically?"

Nick hesitated. "I... I'm not sure. Sometimes even I don't know what's going on with Sarah, but... I think so, yeah."

Diana nodded. "So her feelings for Rex might be clouding her judgment about Michaela."

"Perhaps," Bruce allowed, "but she still raised some valid points. Supergirl leads with her fists, not anything else."

"Not so different from Uncle Clark then," Nick muttered.

"No," Diana said, shaking her head. "Clark leads with his heart. Unless there's a reason to fight, he'd prefer not to."

"Michaela has a heart too!" Nick defended.

The heat in his tone was not missed by either parent, but no comment about it was passed. "I'm sure she does, little sun, but–"

"If your sister is right—and I'm inclined to think she is—then Supergirl believes that her strength is enough for her to be an asset to the League. Reaper's right; the way she uses it, it could actually be more of a danger."

* * *

When Sarah entered the infirmary, her eyes flew to the only occupied bed. He was still unconscious, but was breathing steadily and deeply. Auntie Shay, of course, had refused to leave him, and still had her green eyes trained on his closed ones, her face as pale as Sarah's had been when he'd first been injured.

Sarah came in and put a hand on her adopted aunt's shoulder. "How is he?"

"Same," Shayera said hoarsely.

"And when was the last time you slept?" Sarah asked kindly.

"What time is it?"

"Twelve."

"Then...twenty six hours ago, give or take?"

Sarah sat on Rex's other side. "Go home, Auntie Shay. I'll stay with him. Get some rest, and I'll let you know as soon as he wakes up."

Shayera was about to reply that she was fine before a huge yawn burst from her mouth. Sarah smirked, and Shayera narrowed her eyes, pointing. "Don't start imitating your father on me, young lady."

Sarah obligingly wiped the smirk from her face. "Sorry."

Shayera smiled, kissed her son on his forehead and then squeezed Reaper's shoulder before leaving, looking knackered right down to the wing-tips.

Sarah moved into the seat her aunt had just vacated, and watched Rex sleep. Now that she knew he'd be alright, she could just...look at him without too much panic. In fact it was very restful. He really was...beautiful. She pulled off one of her gloves and, after a pause, ran the tips of her fingers along his face, from forehead to chin. She pulled back a little, watching her hand tremble. She swallowed, then brushed the pad of her thumb as lightly as possible along his bottom lip. And then along her own.

Hera, there wasn't an escape. She'd tried cutting him out of her life, but it was like cutting her own leg off. She'd tried leaving the League—but clearly it couldn't function without _someone _keeping Supergirl in check. And the result was she felt guilty for something she hadn't done. She hadn't nearly killed anyone, she hadn't made any stupid choices. And she still felt lighter every time Rex walked into the room.

Watching him like this was something she could easily imagine herself doing. After...other activities, of course. The picture that her mind formed was so vivid she actually blushed. Unfortunately, it was into this moment that Rex stirred, and then woke up. Sarah was still looking down at her hand, and jumped when he spoke.

"Reaper?"

Her head snapped up, and she gasped. "Great Hera!"

He chuckled, then almost immediately stopped as pain lanced through his ribs. "Stop laughing," Sarah said, "you'll just make it worse."

He put his none-bandaged hand to his ribs and carried on. "Worth it though."

She rolled her eyes. "Not fair," she muttered. "Everyone else I can just..."

"Glare into submission?" he asked.

"Exactly. How are you feeling?"

"Like I had a truck run over me," he replied.

Sarah growled. "You did—a Kryptonian one. She brought the building down on top of you. That stupid fucking bi–"

"Sarah," he said gently, putting a hand on hers. "It's okay. I'm okay."

"It is _not _okay, Rex!" she retorted. "You almost died! What would I have- Kyra, and your mom, Uncle John... What would we all have done if–" She cut herself off, realising she was close to tears. "Sorry," she said, more softly. "I'm just getting sick to my back teeth of putting up with her behavior, and no one says anything about it!" Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to calm down.

She stood and walked over to one of the cabinets that, come to think of it, Rex had never seen opened. Producing a key from her belt she inserted it in the lock, then pulled out two Portable Playstations. She came back over to him with a smile to his questioning look. "Always be prepared."

He raised an eyebrow. "And I thought Superman was the Boy Scout."

She gave one of the game consoles to him. "Bit retro, but I thought you might be bored stuck here."

He took it. "Thanks."

She smiled. "Just don't use it when Uncle J'onn's around. Interfering with the equipment and all that jazz." She sat back down.

"You're staying?" Rex asked, surprised.

"Unless you don't want me to," she began, a cold stab of uncertainly lancing in her chest.

As she started to get up, though, a warm hand closed gently around her wrist. "No, no," he said quickly. Was that...fear in his voice? "Stay," he said, voice softer.

Well, against those eyes...she really had no chance. They stared at each other for what could have been an inappropriately long time before she cleared her throat and turned her PSP on. "Besides, you can't play by yourself, can you?"

"I guess not," he agreed, doing the same.

She smirked as the two machines connected. "Anyway, you're the only person whose ass I haven't kicked at Battleships."

He chuckled again. "Battleships?"

She narrowed her eyes, saying, "Some of us have strawberry milkshakes, others have Battleships."

"Very true."

She flashed a grin. "Then prepare yourself, Rex Stewart." Before starting the game, she lowered her hood and reached for her mask.

"You're taking your mask off?" he asked, surprise in his voice.

"Yeah." She pulled it off, now looking at him without the barrier of her lenses. The green of his eyes was so intense she regretted the need for a mask and a secret identity. They were still wide and shocked. "The door's locked, Uncle J'onn can phase through, Uncle Clark, Jonathan and Supertramp already know my identity."

He nodded finally, and then turned his attention to the game at hand, declaring war. They played for a while before he spoke again. "Sarah?"

"Mmm?" she enquired, not looking up as she sank his aircraft carrier.

"For what it's worth, I'm with you."

That caught her attention. She looked up, a question in her blue eyes. "Most of the League is," he continued.

Understanding dawned, and she felt a surge of hope.

"Even when following orders she's at best annoying, at worst a vicious bitch," he spat, voice heavy with contempt. "If you do decide you want her kicked out..." He smiled. "I've got your back."

If no one else supported her, the fact that _Rex _did... Hera, she could take on the world. At the back of her mind, a little voice that sounded a lot like her father popped up. _By all the gods, Sarah, you really _are _in deep. _

"Thank you," she managed.

"So are you going to try?" he asked.

She sighed. "I don't know. Things can't carry on this way, but apart from my word, there's no evidence she does more harm than good."

"I don't count as adequate proof?" he demanded.

She shrugged a little helplessly. "No, frankly. Everyone makes mistakes." The corner of her mouth curled up. "I just need her to make them in front of a CCTV camera."

"You could always provoke her," he suggested. Immediately though, he hated the idea. In the field it was fine; Reaper was so good it was easy to forget she was only human, but in a physical fight with Michaela...she'd stand no chance. He couldn't let her put herself in such danger.

Thankfully, Sarah was shaking her head. "No."

"Too sneaky?" he smiled.

She smirked. "I'm Reaper. Why should sneaky bother me?"

"Good point," he admitted. "So what's stopping you?"

She shrugged. "My dad would say it wasn't fair. He'd be right. I have to give her the chance to screw up on her own," she said simply. "Again."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	13. Superman's Sadness

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! And thank you to my beta, AQ, for being the star she generally is. **

**Chapter Twelve—Superman's Sadness**

A few days later, Sarah stepped off the transporter pads wanting nothing more than a hot shower. She was sweaty, dirty and extremely smelly—_why _did the criminal she'd been chasing have to go into the sewers? True, it had been particularly satisfying to hand him over to the police, but she had Monitor duty in fifteen minutes, and couldn't go home for a cleanup. She had her quarters onboard; they'd have to do.

She'd barely gotten further than the corridor before a very angry soprano voice screeched her name. Michaela. She sounded like she wanted a fight. Well, that was fine with Sarah. _Any place, any time, bitch. This could be the day you finally hang yourself… _

Supergirl skidded to a halt in front of her, fists balled. "You think this is _funny_, Reaper?"

_"_What, you mean the fact that your roots are showing? Yeah, that's pretty funny," Sarah said. For reasons unknown, despite the fact that both her parents were dark-haired, Michaela had decided that she wanted to be a blonde. It was either her trying to look like the original Supergirl or Reaper herself. Sarah found both possibilities equally pathetic.

"I knew it! I knew all along you were a degenerate psychopath, but would anybody listen to me?" she yelled. "And now I've been proven right!"

"What in Hades' name are you talking about, Michaela?"

"Like you don't know! Are you actually going to stand there and pretend you _haven't _just tried to kill me?"

Sarah narrowed her eyes in incredulity. "I haven't been on the Watchtower in the last twelve hours, how am I supposed to have–"

"You know exactly how! Putting Kryptonite in my bed! Are you really so–"

Sarah burst out laughing. Someone had put Kryptonite in the hillbilly's bed? That was the funniest thing she'd heard in ages. Michaela apparently didn't find it as funny, and punched Sarah. When she extracted herself from the wall, busted lip and all, Sarah wasn't laughing either. When Supergirl charged again, going for a roundhouse kick this time, Sarah used the other girl's superior strength against her, dodging and then grabbing her ankle. Michaela's body slammed into the wall, and she crumpled to the floor.

"Believe me," Sarah growled down at her, "if it _had _been me, I wouldn't have _tried _to kill you, I'd have succeeded."

Michaela got up, took a step toward Reaper. Suddenly another figure flew between the two, grabbing Michaela's fist. "Michaela, don't," Nick groaned. "It's not going to help!"

"She tried to kill me, Nick!" Michaela shrieked. "There's no one else who would–"

"I'll deal with her," Nick promised.

Sarah rolled her eyes and walked away, forcing herself not to limp. Damn bitch had cracked ribs too. She made it to the med-bay and offered Uncle J'onn a pained smile before reaching for two ice packs—one for her face and the other for her ribs. _Fucking cow_, she thought venomously. It would be at least a week before she could go patrolling again now.

"Reaper?"

She looked up to see Rex moving slowly over to her, his expression creased in concern. "Hey. You being discharged?"

"Uh, yeah, can't go on missions for a while but Uncle J'onn gave me that all-clear. What the hell happened to you?"

"Michaela," Sarah said grimly.

"Seriously? Why?"

"She thinks I'm trying to kill her."

"_What_?"

The doors opened again, and Nick came through, face like thunder.

"Was it worth it, Sarah?" he asked furiously.

"Worth getting my lip split open and my ribs cracked?" she snapped. "Not really, considering it was for something I haven't actually done!"

"Oh really? You know what, Michaela's right, I can't believe you'd be that petty to do it, let alone lie to _me_!"

"Nicky, I don't–"

He opened a pouch on his belt and slammed a piece of luminous green rock next to her. "What would you call that, Sarah?" he spat.

She picked it up, looked at it for a second, then burst out laughing. It hurt her ribs, but it was worth it. "Oh Hera that's funny!"

"You're _laughing_?" Nick looked totally nonplussed at how he could have gotten his sister so wrong.

"Yeah, Nicky, I'm laughing," she told him, wiping a few tears from her eyes. "And now I'm going to shower." She got up, hobbled to the door. "And by the way—if it had been me, I would have used _real _Kryptonite."

Sarah started to go through the door, but stopped and turned to look back. "Also, a piece of advice: tell your _girlfriend_ to ask her father what happened the first time he and our father worked together. Remind her that Daddy threw him across the room without so much as breaking a sweat. Remind her that Daddy trained me well." She wiped all traces of her earlier amusement away. "And tell her that if she comes at me again like she did today, I will not hesitate to lay her out on the deck."

"Reaper–" Nick started.

"No," she snapped. She'd started, now she was going to finish what she wanted to say. "Look at that damned rock, P. It's _obviously_ a fake, and yet the bimbo couldn't even tell that much. Did she feel anything? I doubt it—most likely she saw green and decided immediately to blame me." She upped her glare a few notches. "Actually, that doesn't surprise me. I've come to expect stupid snap decisions like that from her. What pisses me off, Prometheus, is that _you_ actually thought I'd do it."

Sarah didn't break her stare, and was only mildly satisfied that Nicky had the grace to look ashamed of himself. After a moment, she continued. "Now, I'm getting a shower, and then I have Monitor duty for the next five hours. Be sure to come home tonight. Thanks to your girlfriend, I won't be able to patrol Gotham any time soon. That leaves it to you to go out with Batman. Rex, I'll see you later."

She didn't wait for a response and stormed out of the med-bay. Her ribs were still aching, which meant Monitor duty was going to be hell.

_Stupid Kryptonian brat_, she thought venomously as she headed for the locker room and the showers.

Fifteen minutes later, Sarah entered the Monitor womb. Superboy was sitting at the terminal, and turned when he heard her enter. "You're late," he said, eyebrow raised. "Something apocalyptic happen? You're never late."

Sarah snorted. "Someone slipped fake Kryptonite into a certain bottle blonde's bed. She and Prometheus were unable to spot that it was fake and decided that I'd tried to murder her."

Jonathan's eyebrows went up. "Really? How can Michaela _not _know that it was fake? She'd have had to have noticed that it was real pretty quick."

She snorted. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Guess you don't really have to," he agreed, rather morosely.

Normally Sarah would sympathise, she really would, but at the moment she didn't want to get into the 'whose family has more issues' game. Not that she wouldn't win, but still. "I'll take over now," she said rather curtly. "Go home, Kent."

He nodded, then yawned loudly. "Night, Reaper."

As he passed, he squeezed her shoulder gently, and Sarah felt her anger softening a little. It wasn't his fault he was related to that air-headed imbecile. "Night, Jonny-boy."

He mock-scowled at her. "Don't call me that."

With that, he left the Monitor room, leaving Sarah to do her shift in peace. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes for ten seconds, rubbing her temple with one hand and her still-aching ribs with the other. A slight breeze made a strand of hair move at the side of her face.

"You two owe me big-time, you know," she commented without opening her eyes.

There was no reply, but when she looked, it was to see Iris and Isabelle standing in front of her with equally apologetic expressions. Iris nervously held out an iced mocha. Sarah took it without a word and looked at them, waiting.

Isabelle cracked first. "We're sorry, Reaper. It was just supposed to be funny. A practical joke."

"We had no idea Supergirl would react like that," Iris explained.

"And it totally wasn't fair of her to blame you."

"Prometheus knows it was us now. We told him."

"So does Michaela," Isabelle nodded.

"We didn't mean for you to get hurt."

"Or hurt so badly, you know you really look like hell, even with the mask–"

Sarah decided they'd babbled enough. "Word to the wise, girls, don't play jokes on people too stupid to understand them."

Both redheads nodded. "Gotcha," they said in unison.

Iris swallowed nervously. "So...are we good?"

"Depends. Are you doing anything for the next five hours?"

The sisters exchanged puzzled looks. "...no."

"Well now you are," she said cheerfully, getting up. "You're taking my shift."

"What? But, Reaper–"

Sarah stopped, and then glared. "Split lip, huge headache and cracked ribs. All because of you two. Are you _sure _you won't volunteer to take my Monitor duty?"

They continued to look a little hesitant. Sarah sweetened her voice until it was dripping syrup. "I'm sure I can always think of another way you could make it up to me..."

Her tone made it clear that whatever the alternative was, it would not be anywhere near as pleasant or trouble-free as Monitor duty. And the twins were by no means stupid. They both nodded. Vigorously. "No problem!"

"Good," she said cheerily, standing up from the chair. She suppressed a wince as another pain shot through her ribcage. "You can either do it together, or split the shift in half. Either way works."

Sarah walked over to the transporter. "The Cave, if you please," she ordered. Iris reached the controls first and tapped a few of them. Seconds later, Sarah was home.

The Cave wasn't empty, she quickly discovered. Both her father and brother were at the computer. They faced her as she approached.

Sarah took her mask off and gave Nick a baleful glare. "Come to make sure I didn't pilfer the family stash of Kryptonite?" she asked scathingly.

He winced. "I deserved that," he admitted.

"You're damn right! Even if I _had _done it, why the hell would you make such a big deal out of it?"

Nick looked away sheepishly. "Look, Sarah, I'm sorry. I just..." he trailed off, and then shrugged helplessly before repeating, "I'm sorry."

She continued to glare at him for another moment, and then nodded. "Apology accepted." Sarah turned to her father, who had remained silent during the exchange. "I take it Nicky explained what happened?"

"Yes," her father replied. "And you were correct. Nick will be accompanying Terry on patrol."

"I trust this adds substance to my earlier argument about the Kryptonian witch?" Sarah demanded. "She's a loose cannon, and turns on her own allies at the drop of a hat with no evidence to back up her claims. Jesus, if it had been almost anyone else, she might very well have killed them."

"Isn't that a little har–"

A vicious snarl in Nicky's direction shut him up quickly. He held up his hands in surrender.

"It was a prank done by the Flash twins," Sarah continued, turning back to her father. "A harmless prank that should have done nothing more than make her jump. Instead, she immediately assumes that I'm someone who will resort to premeditated murder and comes after me." She straightened. "You're still on the Founders' Council, Daddy," she said. "Tell them that if something isn't done, I'll resign from the League. I'll not be on a team that allows its own members to be attacked by supposed teammates."

Sarah watched Nicky's blue eyes bulge, while her father merely raised an eyebrow. "A serious statement. Do you meant it?"

"Absolutely." Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked toward the dressing room. It was going to be a bitch getting her costume off.

* * *

A thick file landed in front of Clark. He blinked in surprise and looked up. Bruce was standing in front of his desk, looking even grimmer than normal. "What's this?" the Kryptonian asked.

"Look at it," was the simple answer. Bruce sat down in one of the chairs in front of Clark's desk.

Raising an eyebrow at his long-time friend, Clark did as he was told. The folder was full of pictures, pictures of Michaela and Sarah in a Watchtower corridor, both glaring at one another. Nothing unusual there. It was no secret that the two girls didn't get along, something that saddened Clark immensely, but the fact was they were just too different. He supposed sometimes that his relationship with Bruce could have gone in that direction, had things been a little different.

He continued to look through the pictures. Michaela punched Sarah, then tried to kick her, only to be knocked to the ground. Not good.

"They're fighting again," Clark said aloud. "What's the problem this time?"

"Keep looking."

Clark sighed, but did as he was told. Next he came to a report from the infirmary, filled out by J'onn. Oh. Busted lip and cracked ribs.

"Does Sarah know about the baby yet?"

"No. Nick hasn't found the courage to tell her—I've made sure he knows he better tell her soon. Iris and Isabelle West played a joke on Michaela by putting a piece of fake Kryptonite in her bed. If I recall, Wally did something like that to you years ago, did he not?"

Clark paused, remembering the many pranks Wally had played on all of the Founders over the years. "Yeah," he replied, "he put a piece in my locker. Scared the crap out of me for a second."

"And how did you respond?"

The Kryptonian smirked. "I put pictures of him and Fire up all over the place. Linda wasn't happy when she heard about it. Neither was Fire, for that matter."

"An equally harmless prank," Bruce elaborated. "Your daughter responded to a prank by attacking a fellow League member, Kent. One not even responsible for the incident."

Clark winced, his amusement fading. Okay, so that _was _bad, even for those two.

Apparently the wince wasn't good enough for Bruce. "Something needs to be done, Clark. Now."

"I know she's a bit of a loose cannon," Superman admitted. "I guess I've given her too much leeway."

Bruce didn't say anything, which Clark took as confirmation. "So what are you suggesting?" he asked. "Should she go through basic training again?"

"Again?" Bruce asked, and then shook his head. "That's part of the problem. She never went through it in the first place. No one did until the Flash twins. In the case of Warkhawk, Prometheus, Superboy, and the others of the second generation, that hasn't been a problem."

"But it is with Michaela," Clark finished. "She's not going to like it."

"She doesn't have to. But the fact of the matter is that either Supergirl learns to keep her head and her temper, or Reaper leaves the League."

Clark's eyebrows shot up. "She'll leave? Sarah loves the League," he said.

"She can kick enough ass in Gotham; she doesn't need the League to do it. Plus it would give her more time to focus on training Terry."

The message was clear—Sarah didn't need the League. The League needed Sarah. Clark finally nodded. "Alright. We'll do something about it."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	14. Spilling of Beans

**A/N: I'm sick. My stupid, mean, nasty, horrible, vindictive, _infectious _little brother (ish, he's taller than me - but younger, that's what counts!) gave me his cold. However, not your problem, so t****hanks for the reviews! I had a couple of anonymous ones I wanted to answer.**

**lallymoon: I appreciate Michaela is not a likable character, but I think wanting her to miscarry is a little harsh. Give her a chance to redeem herself, we're still in the beginning stages of the story. **

**Coco y Loco: Kara Kent will be making an appearance in the story, but I'm not telling when. Batman's investigation of the Joker revealed nothing; whoever killed him disappeared without trace and didn't have a criminal record, so it's still an unsolved case. It will, though, get solved before the end of the fic. **

**Thank you both for the reviews, I appreciate it. **

**Chapter Thirteen—Spilling of Beans**

Diana stretched and stifled a yawn. She winced as she raised her arm—there was a dull ache sitting on her left shoulder. An old injury of Bruce's that she knew plagued both of them, even though her husband never showed it, of course. She bent her other arm around and massaged it softly. The pain would dissolve much quicker if it were Bruce's fingers, although she doubted that they'd stick with pain-relief for long. He might be approaching sixty, but their love life was still as active as it had ever been. He was like a fine wine, she often thought. _Just gets better with age. _

She checked the time, wondered if he was done talking to Clark yet. When she'd learned what Michaela had done to her daughter, the princess had almost been ready to teach Supergirl a lesson herself, angrier than she'd been in a long time. No one hurt her children, _no one_. And for Michaela to attack over such a trivial, meaningless thing! Diana sighed. Perhaps she was being overly harsh on Micheala. The girl was pregnant after all, carrying Diana's own grandchild, and naturally seeing anything that looked like kryptonite was going to cause more of a shock than it would ordinarily do. But to blame Sarah without a shred of _proof..._

She was almost at the end of her Monitor duty shift, and just as she glanced at the clock, the doors hissed open behind her, admitting Warhawk. Diana smiled at him. Rex was usually a few minutes early, but then he'd had military discipline drilled into him from the age of five, including punctuality. Technically he wasn't supposed to be on active duty for at least another month, but he'd managed to persuade his parents and J'onn that Monitor duty didn't constitute anything too strenuous.

"Good morning."

"Hey, Aunt Diana. Busy night?"

"Not really. A few incidents; one in Thailand, there was a minor earthquake in California, but apart from that, nothing major."

"Cool," he nodded absently, before making sure the door was shut behind him. "How's Sarah doing? Didn't get to really check she was okay, and she's not answering her phone. But then she hasn't been for a while..." he muttered under his breath.

Diana's sharp hearing picked it up perfectly, and she frowned. "Oh." Diana's heart sank. The suspicion she'd had for a while now was right then—Sarah was cutting herself off from the League, but she hadn't expected her daughter to include Rex in that list, in fact she was fairly confident Sarah was harbouring feelings for the young man. _Though that could be exactly why…_ Hiding her dismay, Diana forced a caring smile onto her face. "Well, I'm heading home now. I'll let her know you called her."

"Thanks."

Diana squeezed his shoulder comfortingly as she passed, but she had the depressing feeling that Rex knew exactly what Sarah was doing. And was as disappointed by it as she was.

She transported home, changing out of her uniform before heading upstairs to the manor. Intending on a quick breakfast before she went to bed, she headed to the kitchen. Pushing open the door, she found Sarah in there, staring absently out of the kitchen window at the sink, her hands in soapy water doing the dishes.

"Sarah?"

Her daughter turned with a smile. "Hey, Mom. How was monitor duty?"

Diana managed to hide her grimace at the fully-blossomed bruises on her daughter's face—she had a black eye, a purple nose and her mouth around the split lip was red and swollen. "It was fine," she answered.

Sarah nodded and pulled the plug out of the sink, drying her hands on a towel. "I saw Rex," Diana said deliberately, watching her daughter's posture. She had too much self-control to still completely, but her voice was a little higher than usual when she asked, "Really?"

"Why are you ignoring his calls?"

"I'm not."

Diana sighed. "He's not stupid, little star. If you keep ignoring him he'll get the message that you want him out of your life."

Sarah headed for the door. "Good."

Diana caught her shoulder. "Sarah. You're not a heartless person. Don't become one now. You've had boyfriends in the past–"

"None of them were him, Mom."

"I don't understand what you're afraid of. Aphrodite–"

Sarah scoffed. "Aphrodite. _That's _what I'm afraid of."

"What? Why?" More silence. "Sarah! _Why _are you afraid of it?"

Sarah dragged her hands through her loose blonde hair. "Because I could love him!" she burst out. She repeated it more softly. "I could love him."

Diana turned her to face her properly, putting both hands on her shoulders and looked earnestly into her face. "So love him, darling."

"I can't. You don't understand."

"Then help me to."

Sarah sighed, and then looked down. "Twenty-two isn't exactly when most people find their soul-mates, is it? What happens when mine pops up and I just run off after him? Rex doesn't deserve that kind of heartbreak."

"Do you think yourself so fickle?" Diana asked sadly. "And have you even considered the possibility that Rex could be the one?"

"Of course I have," her daughter snapped. "Which makes it even _more _dangerous."

Diana felt completely lost now. "Dangerous?"

Sarah stared at her for a brief moment, and then shook her head. "Doesn't matter. It's irrelevant anyway."

"Sarah–"

"I've gotta go, Mom," she cut her off, pulling out of her grip. "Nicky wanted to talk to me about something."

Diana stopped speaking. If Nicholas was about to tell his sister what she thought he was, then now was not the time to lecture her about her love life. _More like not committing homicide..._

"I'll come with you."

They found Nick, Bruce and Terry in the drawing room, one looking faintly amused, one very serious and one terrified. Diana took Sarah's hands and sat her down on the couch. Sarah stared at the four of them staring at her. "Mom," she said slowly, "what is going on?"

Nicky was the one who stammered out a reply. "I...that is, Michaela and I...we're...going to have a baby."

Sarah blinked. "What?" she asked, her voice flat with incomprehension. Surely she hadn't heard him right. There was no way...

"Michaela and I are going to be parents, Sarah," he repeated.

That was when the synapses began to fire again. Her thoughts raced. _This isn't happening_, she repeated like a mantra in her mind.

"It's true, dearest," Mom broke in. "Michaela went and had her doctor confirm it just two weeks ago."

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Two _weeks_ ago?" she repeated. "And you've all known since then?" She glared at Nicky. "Why am _I _the last to know here?"

"Well, I know you and Michaela haven't ever gotten along–"

"You got Psychobitch Kent _pregnant_?" Sarah abandoned all her attempts to stay in control. She didn't give a damn anymore. Wrenching her hands out of her mother's grip, Sarah jumped to her feet, shouting, "It's supposed to be an _act_, you ignoramus! You're not supposed to actually sleep with every girl you meet!"

Nicky held up his hands. "Come on, Sarah, it's not like that! Michaela's not that bad–"

"That _brat_ called me a degenerate psychopath!" Sarah cut him off. Her hands curled into fists.

"Oh come on, you guys were just kids!"

"That was _yesterday_, you idiot!" Sarah clenched her teeth. This was a disaster. Her future niece or nephew was going to be half-Kent! Granted, Aunt Lois, Uncle Clark, and Jonathan didn't bother her. Michaela, on the other hand, was such a...urgh.

"Why couldn't it have been Iris or Isabelle? For the gods' sakes I know Kyra's not stupid enough to sleep with you but there are plenty of other girls in the League!" she half-pleaded.

Nicky didn't answer, just shrugged helplessly.

"Oh, so Zippy or Turbo as a mom doesn't scare the hell out of anyone but me?" Sarah heard Terry mutter, but she ignored him.

Instead, Sarah growled. "Nicholas Alexander Wayne, I have two words for you..._start running_."

Her brother was many things, but a fool in the face of his sister's temper being unleashed wasn't one of them. He turned and raced out of the room. Sarah paused only long enough to grab the poker from the fireplace before tearing after him, raising the iron instrument high.

"Now I know why the goddesses banned men from Themyscira!" she shrieked.

The living room was silent in the wake of the twins' abrupt departure. Terry pushed himself up from leaning against the fireplace. "Well," he said, "that went better than I thought it might."

"Did it?" Diana asked wryly, rubbing her forehead tiredly.

"Oh yeah," he said, "I thought for sure she was just going to take him out right here and now. Sarah still gave him a warning before she went after him." Terry shook his head. "Man, I wouldn't want to be there when she catches up with him."

"Too bad," Bruce said, "you will be."

Terry looked at him. "What?"

The old man's face was positively gleeful. "Get after them, McGinnis. Make sure Sarah doesn't beat Nicholas too badly. Separate them if you have to."

A cold trickle went down his spine. Sarah was good, as good as the old man had been in his prime. Bruce actually _wanted_ him to get in her way when she was red with rage? Not that he really blamed her. Terry had met Michaela Kent. She took the whole 'Super' image to new heights—he'd heard about what she'd done to Warhawk—while somehow managing to be a vicious bitch to people. Just _what_ Nick saw in her he would never understand.

"Move it, kid."

"Please, Terry."

Terry sighed and started out of the room. It wouldn't take much to find them. Sarah was still shouting at Nick, and there would likely eventually be a trail of broken furniture and such for him to follow.

Terry silently wondered just who the hell he had pissed off in a past life.

He found them in the one place Nick could find safety—the Batcave. Namely because Nick could fly up to the ceiling of the Cave where Sarah couldn't beat him over the head with the poker.

"Don't think that's going to save you!" she yelled.

"You can't see him, Sarah," Terry pointed out nonchalantly from the top of the stairs.

The smirk she sent his way could only be described as evil. Uh-oh. "Nick?" he called. "I'd come down if I were you—she's going all Bruce again..."

"I'll risk it!" came the echoey, panicked reply.

"Mistake," Sarah said casually. She strode over to the weapons' cabinet, took out an ultrasonic batarang and threw it at a stalactite. Then she pressed the corresponding activation button. "Terry, I'd take shelter if I were you."

No less than five seconds later, the Cave erupted in a flurry of wings, screeches and guano. Sarah and Terry—closeted under the computer desk—were safe from it. Nick, however, was not. With an alarmed cry, he fell out of the Cave roof and crashed to the floor. Sarah turned the batarang off, and then strode out into the middle of the Cave, poker still in hand.

She only pointed it at him, but Nick decided to err on the side of caution and caught it, then snapped it in half. He threw it over to his left—and Sarah's fist connected with his jaw.

"Ow! Sarah! I think you broke my teeth!"

"I'll do more than break your teeth, Nicky! Michaela! How could you?"

"It wasn't like I meant her to get pregnant–"

"Nicky, the girl is a moron!" she snapped. "She'd play kryptonite _football_ if you told her it was just painted green!"

Terry watched Sarah spend the next ten minutes yelling at Nick about how stupid Michaela Kent was. About three minutes in, Nick finally got tired of it and started shouting back, not exactly defending his pregnant girlfriend, but more along the lines of his decision to date her and then sleep with her.

Bruce may have told him to separate them if things got too bad, but seeing as both Sarah and Nick were extremely pissed off at each other, Terry stayed a safe distance away, by the computer. No way was he getting between Reaper and Prometheus when they were two shakes away from ripping each other to pieces. He valued his existence and continued ability to eat solid food. Plus he figured he was safe by the computer since neither of them would risk the machine's safety and thus incur Bruce's wrath.

It finally ended when Sarah stormed off, going towards the garage. Nick scowled after her for a moment before tapping his communicator and ordering the Watchtower to transport him out of the Cave. Terry stood there for a minute, then shrugged and left, going back upstairs.

Bruce and Diana were still in the living room, the former reading the paper and the latter reading a book. They both looked up when he entered. "What happened?" Diana immediately asked.

Terry shrugged. "Nick's gone up to the Watchtower and Sarah was heading toward her motorcycle."

She nodded, unsurprised. "So they've both gone to sulk and lick their wounds." Diana shrugged. "They'll be fine by this evening."

Terry snorted as he sat down in an empty chair. It was actually kind of funny, but Diana was right. The twins didn't fight often, but it usually only lasted a few hours, ending with them apologizing to each other in a very roundabout way while yet never admitting to any wrongdoing on either side.

"Why exactly does Sarah hate Michaela Kent so much?" he asked curiously.

Diana rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Oh it goes back to when they were children," she told him. "One silly accident."

"Huh?"

Bruce put the paper down. "Sarah's always preferred high-tech toys. Michaela accidentally spilled her punch on Sarah's laptop at Iris and Isabelle's fifth birthday party."

"It wasn't just Michaela's fault," Diana said. "Sarah knew she shouldn't have had that laptop out at a party, much less a party for the daughters of Wally West." She laughed quietly, clearly amused by the memory.

"Sarah and Michaela had been provoking each other," Bruce added, "but to hear Sarah tell it, even today, it was a deliberate act of terrorism. Of course, so was what she did in retaliation."

Terry eyed him. "Do I want to know what she did?"

Bruce just smirked. "Michaela had a teddy bear at the time that she adored, a Superman bear. The party was a sleepover and when the girls went to bed, Michaela found her bear's costume had been replaced with a suit and its head shaved bald."

Diana sighed. "Sarah had hacked into Bruce's file on Lex Luthor just before the party. It was no doubt still fresh in her mind."

Terry stared at both of them. _I'm _related_ to these people?_ he thought.

* * *

After Terry had gone for the night, and there were no more sounds of fighting from downstairs—or explosions—Diana decided to go in search of her daughter. She felt like some mother/daughter bonding was in order. When stressed, Sarah's reaction had always been to do one of two things—kick some major ass in the city, or do some manual labour that didn't require her to think. Diana was betting on the latter, and sure enough, she found Sarah in the garage, in the middle of taking apart the engine on one of her motorcycles, cleaning every last component carefully before putting it back together. Her face was grimly blank, but when she saw her mother she grimaced.

"I cannot believe him. How _could _he _do _something like this? How could he let her get away with it?"

"Don't you think you're blowing this a little out of proportion, Sarah?" Diana asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Sarah tossed one of her wrenches down and grabbed another before turning back to her motorcycle. "No," she snapped, "I'm not. This was a deliberate move against me!"

Diana raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware Nick and Michaela dating and doing...other things...included your involvement."

"Of course they do! Michaela would do anything to spite me, and what better way than to sink her claws into my own brother?" Sarah growled, then she stopped. Standing up, she whirled to look at her mother, horror falling over her face. "Sweet Aphrodite, they're not going to get _married_ are they?"

Diana stared at her daughter. She looked like she was on the verge of hyperventilating. "There's been no talk of marriage," she admitted. "And personally, I don't think it will happen. Nick and Michaela don't seem..."

"Utterly and completely in love like you and Daddy?"

She smiled faintly. "Yes, that." Diana shrugged. "I could be wrong, though." She gave her daughter a searching look. "Could you handle that, having Michaela as part of this family?"

Sarah held her gaze, but then her shoulders slumped. "I don't know," she admitted, "I honestly cannot stand her, and she despises me just as much. I have no idea if we could stand something like that. I don't think _I_ could stand sharing..."

Ah, there was the heart of the matter. Sarah had never really had to share her brother with anyone that wasn't family. Diana felt her expression soften. "It was bound to happen one day, little star," she said gently. "But he'll still be your brother."

"Yeah...but now he's going to be a dad and Michaela's… Michaela's...whatever he is. We're not going to have chocolate cake binges at three a.m. once we get back from patrol anymore. Hell, he's not going to be patrolling with me, is he?" She wiped her forehead with her sleeve. "I love Terry, Mom, but he's not Nicky. And now Nicky isn't Nicky anymore. He'll just be..._Nick_," she finished, looking down and fiddling with the wrench in her hands.

Her mother walked forward and enfolded her daughter into her arms. "Now I'm certain that isn't true. Sarah, you're the only one who calls him Nicky, and if you stop again it'll only upset him. You are twins; there is a bond between you that is yours alone. No one can break it." She leaned back and wiped her daughter's cheeks free of oil, sweat and the tears that she chose not to point out to Sarah. "No matter how strong they are."

Sarah sniffed. "You think so?"

Diana nodded and kissed her forehead. "I know so." She put an arm around Sarah shoulders and walked her to the kitchen, feeling a little Ben and Jerry's was in order. "Besides," she pointed out as they walked, "sooner or later someone would have turned your head. Then Nicky would be in the same position you are."

"I would never have picked someone Nicky hated, much less gone behind his back to–"

"Missing the point, Sarah," Diana interrupted softly. "You're not losing your brother, but you could never stay as you were forever. It's not the two of you against the world. You have your own lives."

Sarah's head hung, a curtain of blonde hair hiding her face. "That's it though, isn't it?" she asked bitterly. "I don't. I'm just..." She shook her head with a sigh of frustration. "Doesn't matter."

Diana frowned. She wasn't about to let her daughter become her father, and that was exactly where she was headed. "If it matters to you, it matters," she said firmly.

Sarah smiled sadly and kissed her mother's cheek. "Never mind me. I have some software upgrades to make on the Watchtower. I'll see you later, Mom."

Diana sighed as she watched Sarah leave the kitchen and head to the Batcave, then took Sarah's untouched ice cream into the drawing room for her husband, along with her own.

He raised an eyebrow when she put the bowl in front of him. "Must be bad if she turned down phish food." His tone was light, but Diana could see the worry in his eyes. "Is she taking it that hard?" he asked.

She nodded. "She's lonely, Bruce."

He frowned. "Lonely?"

"Think about it. Everyone she loves has someone." She took his hand, squeezing his fingers without looking at him. "We have each other. Terry has Dana. Dick has Barbara. Tim has Jenny. Now Nicholas... Sarah, for all that we love her, is alone."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	15. Cold Case

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews****!**

**Exile: I appreciate your comments, thank you for your honesty. Maybe you're right in saying that she's not being very mature, but this whole story is about Nick and Sarah taking that final step into adulthood. By the time the story's finished I hope your opinion will have changed, and please don't stop reading the story. **

**Chapter Fourteen—Cold Case**

Detective Tom Rathbone hated being called a rookie. He'd been a rookie when he joined Police Academy, a rookie when he was new as an officer, a rookie now as a detective. Sure, he'd only been promoted six weeks ago, but it was really irritating that his colleagues continued to rib and jibe him just because he hadn't yet had the opportunity to solve a case.

Well, he'd had enough. He was going to solve a case that _no one _had _ever _been able to solve, not even the great Batman. Kids were going to be reading his name in history books for _years _to come after he solved this.

The Joker's murder had been open for six months before Old Man Gordon had closed it down and relegated it to a cold case. It had sat in the archives ever since, opened once every few years but always shelved again. Even the Old Man's daughter, the current Commissioner Gordon, had only given the case a glance before tossing it to the bottom of her list of cold cases to solve. The smart detectives knew when a case was impossible, and they knew that there were easier ways to get promoted.

Rathbone thought they were all just a bunch of pathetic quitters, personally.

_But where d'ya start with somethin' like this?_ he wondered.

There was the physical description of the woman who'd shot the Clown Prince that Batman had given the GCPD back in 2011. It had matched the Phantasm then, and it still did now, but it could also match a few Justice League members back then. Like Huntress, and _she _had a history. There had been that crime lord, whatshisface... Well, whatever his name had been, the original Huntress had tried to kill him, and she had been in operation at the time of the Joker murder. He pulled up a file photo, then twisted his mouth in consternation.

Huntress was definitely a woman, was definitely wearing black and definitely used a projectile weapon. It was a crossbow, though, and she hadn't worn a hood. The woman in Batman;s description definitely wore a hood. Rathbone went through every female vigilante know to the GCPD in the early 21st century, came up with plenty of names but hardly any viable suspects. The Phantasm still looked the most likely—and there was a list of potential Phantasms, but each had been investigated at the time and in subsequent investigations, and found to be innocent. Or at least there was a lack of proof.

Just like this whole damn thing.

Without any real hope of getting anywhere, he brought up the case file on the computer and scanned through it. It was so frustrating: a _full _set of fingerprints and they were still unable to pinpoint the perp! Teeth grinding in annoyance, Rathbone hit the cross-reference button. It wouldn't come up with anything, but there was no harm in–

With a beep, the cross-referencing stopped.

It had found a result.

There was a file number blinking gently at him onscreen, a link just begging to be clicked. He knocked over his coffee in his haste to get to the mouse. The file opened. The woman who'd killed the Joker looked back at him.

"What the _fuck_?"

Five minutes later, he crashed into the Commissioner's office totally out of breath. She didn't look pleased to see him. "Rathbone, for God's sake—haven't you heard of knocking?"

"Sorry...Commissioner Gordon...but found...something impossible..."

Barbara Gordon looked at him over the top of her glasses. "Impossible? This is Gotham, Detective, we get 'impossible' on a daily basis."

"Not like this we don't, Commissioner! Please, ma'am, you have to see this!"

She sighed, and then pushed back from her computer. "Alright, show me. Then get out."

Rathbone couldn't prevent himself from grinning ear to ear. This was going to get him another promotion, he just knew it was. He brought up the relevant files on the computer and turned in time to see the Commissioner's jaw drop.

"No."

"I know, right?"

"But that's impossible!"

"Hell yes it is!" he said gleefully.

"No," she said stonily, "it _is _impossible. You're talking 2011 here. That was the year they were–"

"True," he said, annoyed at the problem she'd thrown up, "but it's a _perfect _match, Commissioner. That can't be a mistake!"

"It must be," she said. "Computer error, that's all."

"But chances of that happening are _miniscule_!"

"So is winning the lottery, and that still happens. That's all this is. Delete the result."

"But Commissioner–"

"I _said_, delete the result, Rathebone, that's an order! I'm not turning my precinct into a media circus just because so computer's spat out something ridiculous, understand?"

Rathbone felt himself rapidly deflating. "But–"

"And don't you have other, _current _cases to be working on?" she said sharply.

"Well, yeah, but..."

"Then I suggest you get on with them instead of wasting your time in stuff like this!"

Rathbone nodded miserably and deleted the result as he'd been bid. Then he left the Commissioner's office with head down and heart sinking. Maybe he _was _a rookie.

Barbara waited until she was sure he'd gone before she picked up the phone and dialed. "It's me," she said. "I need to see you—tomorrow. It's urgent."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	16. Milkshake

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! And thank you to my beta, the lovely AQ. **

**cajun strong man 2: The Phantasm is an old Batman villain. I'd suggest wiki-ing her because it's a long complicated story. There's an animated movie called _Mask of the Phantasm _which I'd recommend. **

**Chapter Fifteen—Milkshake**

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Sarah blinked, then looked up. Warm green eyes met hers. She smirked. "You'd have to pay me more than a penny."

Warhawk gestured at the empty seat next to her. "How about the pleasure of my company?"

"Be my guest. I just have a few updates to install." They were silent for a while, and it was all-too-easy for Sarah to slip back into her brooding.

"You're really not listening, are you?"

"Huh?"

"You don't look happy," he noted. "In fact you look like you could do with cheering up." He picked a glass of pink liquid from his left. "Was going to drink it myself, but you look like you need it more than I do."

She raised an eyebrow. "Strawberry milkshake? Honestly, Rex."

He smiled. "Don't knock it till you try it."

She rolled her eyes. "Well I can't drink it all. It's your drink."

"There are two straws," he pointed out.

It was Sarah's turn to smile; the first time all day. She took one straw, and drank some of the milkshake. It was way too pink, tasted nothing like strawberry, so sweet it made her teeth hurt and the overriding taste was chemicals. Nonetheless, it made her feel better instantly.

Rex grinned, looking like he knew exactly what she was thinking. "Disgusting, isn't it?"

She laughed. "Absolutely foul. But then I guess the automated chef can't do much better."

"True. Some things have to be done by people."

"And the _right_ people," she added. "My parents try, but _no one _makes meatballs the way Alfred used to." Sarah silently wondered if making Alfred's meatballs would make the entire situation with Nicky and Michaela a bit easier to swallow. She could almost hear Alfred whispering to her now, _What's done is done, Miss Sarah; there's no going back. So what will you do now?_

Sarah sighed. It was times like this that the empty spot in her heart where Alfred used to be ached even more than normal.

"Agreed. There's this place in DC that makes the best milkshakes anywhere in America, I swear. I'll take you," he added. "Gotta make up for this one somehow."

She laughed, shaking his proffered hand. "Deal."

"So how about tomorrow?"

She stopped, staring at him. Luckily her white lenses hid her eyes, wide with shock (and not a little elation), but she stared for so long that her emotions couldn't be hidden from him. She'd thought it was a joke, banter to raise her spirits. Now it actually sounded like a date.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, we're both in DC, so…"

"We are?"

He laughed again, and Sarah decided she was missing something. "You're really not with it, are you?"

"Apparently not. But then I'm not 'with' a lot of stuff. Like the fact that Michaela's pregnant, or the fact that-"

"Whoa, Sarah – what?"

"Yeah. Last in the family to know. Brilliant, isn't it?"

"So it's–"

"Nicky's, yeah."

He shook his head. "I can't believe it."

"Yeah well he couldn't believe it when I went after him with a poker either, but surprises happen I guess."

He eyed her curiously. "You're looking strangely indifferent to the whole thing."

"I'm not," Sarah replied, leaning back in her chair. "I'm just temporarily angered out at the moment. I wonder how long it'll last?"

"Ah. How far along is she?"

"About six weeks apparently. I still can't believe he'd be so reckless. And now the result is…"

She sighed, and then shoved thoughts of the foetus growing inside Michaela away. She had another eight months to worry about it, after all. "What did you mean?" she asked. "About tomorrow?"

"I meant since we're both in DC, we could go get that milkshake. Or did you forget that too?"

Sarah cast her mind around for what she needed to be in DC for tomorrow… "Oh _crap_."

"Crap? Don't think _Vogue_ would appreciate that."

"I can't believe I forgot!"

"Don't worry about it. Your photographer won't mind if you're late," he grinned.

She looked at him, surprised. Tomorrow she was supposed to be going to DC in order to do a photo-shoot and interview for _Vogue_, to be featured in the 'women of power' issue in that November. It wasn't being shot in Gotham because the interviewer had flatly refused to enter a city where her Gucci had such a high chance of being stolen, and neither was it in New York, because the Editor in Chief thought they used New York for too many shoots. Sarah wasn't exactly sure what made her a 'woman of power' – except her nighttime activities – but any opportunity to spread her shallow, press-courting _other_-self was never something to be turned down lightly, so she'd agreed.

"_You're _the photographer?"

While she knew full-well how brilliant a photographer Rex was, and why it had won him several prizes and a successful career – fashion photography was not something she'd ever thought he might consider.

He laughed. "Can you see _me _having _any _patience with supermodels? No, I'm there taking pictures for the new tourism campaign. We should meet up after and I'll buy you that milkshake."

It was on the tip of her tongue to agree enthusiastically while fighting her heart back into her ribcage, as it felt as though it was bursting out at an alarming rate. Then she was reminded of the promise she'd made to herself. She shut her mouth and glanced away, for once not having a reply ready prepared.

"It's okay," Rex said immediately. "Just an idea, doesn't matter…"

Sarah gathered her courage. "It's not that I don't want to–"

"Yeah, I know it's not that you don't want to, Sarah," he said, looking at her very directly. "But I don't know why it is. Just answer me one question – have I pissed you off? And if I have, _how_?"

"You haven't–"

He sighed. "You don't talk to me anymore, Sarah. If we're on a mission together and you've organised it, you put me in the position _furthest _from you."

"That's not true, I–"

"So if I have, would you just tell me? I thought we were friends. Jesus, we've known each other since we were toddlers!"

Sarah's heart twisted. "We _are _friends," she said emphatically. _Even if what I want goes so far beyond that. _Truthfully she had been putting him at as great a distance as possible – the fact was, he was a distraction. From Gotham, from her League duties. It didn't make the fact that she missed him any easier. Pushing that aside, she sighed. "I'm sorry, Rex. You haven't pissed me off, I've just been preoccupied lately. With... Terry, and now this thing with Supergirl..." She sighed again. "I haven't been actively avoiding you," – _lie_, a voice in her mind hissed – "I just..."

He leaned forward, squeezed her shoulder. Even at that innocent touch her heart beat faster. "It's okay," he said. "I just... I've missed you, y'know?"

She put her hand on his. "Yeah." _I've missed you too. _

He grinned. "So – milkshake tomorrow?"

Briefly, the memory of him unconscious in the med-bay, bandages strapped all around his chest and an IV in his hand flashed into the forefront of Sarah's head. The corresponding rush of emotion made her nod. "Sure. I'll call you once the interview's done."

"Great," he grinned. "Then it's a date."

Before Reaper could make a move to pick her jaw up off the floor, he'd bid her goodnight and left. Sarah leaned back onto her seat and laughed. "Hera. Never rains but it pours…"

First Nicky and the baby, and now she was actually doing something with Rex? Was that an actual date? He'd said it, but he'd also said they were friends. _Friends_, not something else. Which meant that, really, their interests coincided beautifully, didn't it? Perhaps this was some sort of test for her resolution to devote herself entirely to Gotham. Leaving the room, she headed toward her quarters onboard and locked the door behind her. Removing her hood, she knelt at the small alter. It was some time before she spoke.

"I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm _supposed_ to do. Please, help me. Guide me."

* * *

Diana couldn't remember the last time a Founder's meeting had been this tense. She could well be imagining it, but she didn't think she was. Certainly she, Clark and Bruce were the only people who knew for sure that something was going to be done about Michaela's behaviour. Though, Shayera and John certainly looked ready to demand it, and she didn't blame them. Rex had been lucky, that was all. One inch down and the injury would have been fatal.

Wally had easily picked up on the tension of the others, and was watching his friends and comrades with none of his usual amusement. By the time Clark had moved onto 'other business', everyone was on the edge of their seats. Except J'onn, of course.

"We have one last item of discussion before we're finished," Clark said, glancing around at the others. "I trust you've all heard of the altercation between Reaper and Supergirl last week?"

Bruce and Diana nodded, as did Shayera and Wally, surprisingly. John didn't react in any visible way, but Clark assumed that Shay likely mentioned it to him at some point.

"Apparently, a practical joke was played and Supergirl... errantly blamed Reaper for it," Clark elaborated.

Wally sighed. "Iris and Isabelle claimed responsibility for it, and apologized to both Reaper and Supergirl for what happened. They even took up what they could of Reaper's League duties while she recovered."

Diana nodded. "Reaper appreciated that," she told him. "But that isn't the problem here. The problem is that Supergirl's attack on Reaper has caused additional problems."

"What's happening?" John asked.

Diana hesitated for a moment, so Bruce answered for her. "Reaper has made it clear that she will no longer put up with Supergirl's behavior. She has stated on more than one occasion that Supergirl's impulsiveness has put her fellow League members in danger. This personal attack is the final straw. Reaper has stated that if something is not done to rein Supergirl in, she will resign from the League."

The reactions of the other Founders were interesting. Diana and Clark weren't surprised, since they knew ahead of time. Wally's jaw dropped and he looked stricken, even behind his mask. John's expression darkened and he crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair. Shayera's lips thinned and her eyes flashed.

"She has more than enough to keep her busy in Gotham, dealing with criminals there as well as training Batman," Diana spoke up again. "However, this move would have severe consequences for the League, both in the short-term and in the long run."

"I agree," J'onn said solemnly, "but we cannot be seen to play favourites."

"Play favourites?" John repeated. "J'onn, it's gone past that point. I'm sorry, Clark, but there really isn't a choice here. The League needs Reaper."

"Not to mention it's not just Reaper that Supergirl in endangering," Shayera added somewhat angrily. "Just a few days ago she almost got Rex killed because she couldn't even –"

"There's no point in raking up old coals," Bruce interrupted, seeing how this could all-too-easily become a mud-slinging match. "But we can't sugar the pill anymore. Either Supergirl learns some discipline, or Reaper walks away." When Terry was ready, he'd probably be able to almost equal Reaper's tactical brilliance, but he wasn't there yet. Experience was just as much of a teacher as Sarah was for her younger brother.

"So Supergirl undergoes basic training?" Wally asked. He'd never said it, but he had always thought it wasn't really fair for Iris and Isabelle to have to pass assessments when other Founders' kids hadn't.

"It's the best way to ensure she doesn't simply rely on her strength in future," Diana said.

"Will it keep Reaper in the League?" John asked.

Bruce nodded. "If the lessons are learned, then yes."

"So we're agreed," Clark sighed. "Supergirl goes through training. Can anyone think of anyone else who might need to?"

No one offered any names.

Superman nodded shortly. "I'll inform Supergirl as soon as possible; I think that's it for this meeting."

They all left, Bruce and Diana walking back to the transporter room slower than the rest. "This can't be easy for Kal," she sighed.

"He's not doing this as a father," Bruce said, "he's doing it as a Founder, and as a Founder he has to concede that the League needs Reaper more than it needs Supergirl."

"So she has us over a barrel?" Diana asked dryly.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Can you blame her?"

"No, not at all," his wife replied, "I was just thinking...you've trained her very well. When we started the League you were indispensable to us. Reaper's the same."

Bruce tried – and failed – to hide a smirk. "When's she getting back?"

"This evening. About eight, she said."

* * *

Sarah had eventually decided to call Rex once her photo-shoot was finished, but he was done first, having spent most of the afternoon trying to clear at least some of the tourists out of his shot of the Lincoln Memorial. Sarah texted him the address of the hotel her interview was being conducted in with the room number to call once he got there.

When he arrived, he found he was actually nervous. Jesus, was he actually taking _Sarah Wayne _for a _milkshake_? How lame was that? Forget ignoring him, he was stunned she hadn't just laughed in his face. He'd known her for his whole life, knew the face she showed to the press wasn't who she was in _any _way, but it was hard to remember sometimes. Rex remembered his parents reminiscing about Bruce in the old days, how he seemed like two completely different men depending on whatever clothes he wore at the time – only for him to emerge as a _third _man once he and Diana married. Sarah, and even Terry to some extent, was exactly the same. Reaper, the party-girl and the woman who wasn't either of them. The woman who was scared sometimes, who, he suspected, was dominated by her heart a lot more than she'd like to admit. At least he hoped that was the case. And he hoped her heart had developed a soft spot for him.

_Come on, Stewart, get it together… It's just Sarah. _

Right. Just Sarah. Just funny, beautiful, amazing, formidable, genius, _totally_ enigmatic Sarah. Where was Kyra when he needed her to laugh at him? Right now he just needed to be reminded that this wasn't in any way serious. That it didn't matter. Or his dad.

Giving himself a sharp slap upside the head (though not literally, there were quite a few people around), Rex pulled out his cell and dialled the number.

"_Hello?_"

"Hey, Sarah," he smiled, recognising her voice. "I'm here."

"_Great,_" she said warmly. "_It's suite 1091, come up._"

When he arrived, he was let in by the magazine's photographer, who gave him the once over, and was obviously not impressed by his clothes. He didn't have time to say anything, though, because the journalist who supposedly done the interview came over, hand extended. Her manicured nails were long and flashed in the light like claws.

"You must be Rex Stewart, am I right? Sarah's…?"

"Friend."

"Oh," she pouted, "just 'friend'? She turned to where Sarah was picking up her purse and coat. "You're letting your reputation down, Miss Wayne."

She flashed an easy and dazzling grin, then hugged Rex, kissing his cheek and sending a cloud of perfume tying his senses in knots. He helped her on with her coat still slightly dazed. It was made worse when she took his hand and her body language went into full-flirt mode. _Just an act, just an act, just an act_, he chanted over and over in his head.

"Sorry to disappoint, Verity," she grinned, looking as if she knew the journalist was writing mental notes at a furious pace. "I'll see you at the Versace spring-line launch?"

"Sure. And the interview will be in the November issue."

"Great."

She shook hands with Verity and the photographer, and they left still hand in hand. Deciding that fortune favoured the bold, Rex tightened his fingers around hers a little bit. She didn't pull away. But then they were still being watched. Once in the elevator, she did let go.

"Sorry," she said. "Like she said – in public I have a reputation for flirting with everything in pants."

He nodded. "I understand."

There was a pause before he took her hand again. Without her mask, it was easy to see her blue eyes widen and the faint blush that coloured her cheeks. "Sarah–"

He was cut off by his com-link going off. From the instantly serious and cold expression which fell over Sarah's face, she was receiving the incoming message as well. "_Warhawk, Reaper – there's been an emergency call made from the Lincoln Memorial; a suspicious package that has been confirmed as a bomb. Bomb disposal unit is fighting through DC traffic but–_"

"We're on our way," he said firmly.

"_Great. Local law enforcement have cordoned off the area, I'll tell them to expect you._"

Sarah was busy doing something over by the control panel of the elevator; when she straightened, the elevator actually sped up. "I've got my costume in the car," she said.

"Yeah, mine too."

It took them less than two minutes to change and then fly over the capital city to the Lincoln Memorial. A police officer waved them down urgently. "Thank God you're here," he panted. "I-I don't know anything about bombs, but – it looks big. Like _nuclear _big."

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	17. Summer of Love

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! **

**Chapter Sixteen—Summer of Love**

The seven Founders sat in their usual places at the conference table, all focusing on the eighth occupant. Bruce could easily see that Michaela was uncomfortable to be under the stares of all seven of them, though she was bearing up well enough. She wasn't Lois Lane's daughter for nothing – she could stand up to a few looks.

"Supergirl," Clark spoke formally, no hint of the mild-mannered father that he was in his tone, "your contributions to the League are not in question. You have done much good for the League and this world, and we have no doubt that you will continue to do much good in the future."

"Thank you," she replied, her eyes still sweeping over the lot of them. Bruce didn't doubt that she was aware that she was here for more than just a pat on the back.

"However," Clark continued, "your other actions have caused friction among the League. It is unacceptable to attack a fellow League member under _any_ circumstances. Your unprovoked assault on Reaper cannot stand without consequences."

Bruce watched the emotions flicker over Michaela's face. Surprise, comprehension, and anger. "Dad, that _woman_ has made no secret that she hates–"

"Michaela," Clark cut her off, his voice quiet, "I have no choice." He cleared his throat, and then continued more loudly, "Starting this day, you are on temporary suspension from the Justice League. You will remain so until you undergo the basic training that was developed previously for the Flash twins. It will be tailored to fit your skills and the areas in which you are in need of improvement. In light of your pregnancy, it has been recommended that you wait to undergo the program until after the child is born."

The girl shot her father a betrayed look and said nothing for several seconds. Finally, Michaela took a deep breath and replied, "If this is the wish of the council, then I will of course accept." She stood up and bowed to them before taking her leave wordlessly.

Bruce didn't miss the rage boiling in her eyes.

* * *

Reaper was crouched by Lincoln's left knee, bent over the backpack that contained the bomb. She'd checked for booby-traps, but unsurprisingly didn't find any. If there had been some, the police officer would have set them off. She'd made sure he wouldn't ever do it again in future.

"What is it?" Rex asked over her shoulder.

"Nothing good would be my guess..." she muttered. Gingerly, she opened the backpack and slid the mass of wiring out. "...and I would be right."

It was a bomb. Big, complicated and – "_Shit!_" – with a plutonium core. And it was counting down. She took a second to run through her options. It wasn't a large nuclear bomb to be sure, but it was enough to take out the entire city. There were less than three minutes left on the clock. The people didn't have time to evacuate. She'd have to disarm it.

_Okay, Sarah, you can do this..._

She pulled a batarang out her belt and set about detangling the mess. First job: remove the core. If she did that, there would be no nuclear explosion. She and Rex would still die in the explosion, and maybe President Lincoln would be a little worse for wear, but millions of lives would be saved.

A hand descended on her shoulder. "Reaper?"

She didn't respond, wholly focused on her task. After a few seconds of carefully manouevring the core, the plutonium finally came away in her hand. She didn't allow herself to feel relief, and only handed it over her shoulder to Rex.

"Is this what I think it is?" he asked.

"Plutonium," she said curtly. "Don't drop it."

Thirty seconds left. The age-old question. _Yellow wire, blue wire, red wire..._

She bit the bullet. Cut the blue wire. The bomb beeped, then the numbers flashed down to zero. And nothing happened. Sarah blew out a sigh through her mouth. _Thank Hera. _

She looked around at Rex. "It's done. We're safe."

He smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "Well done."

She nodded. "Thanks." She gestured to the radioactive material in his hand. "You can give that back to me now," she grinned.

He handed it back to her, and she put all the component parts of the bomb back in the backpack. They couldn't leave it here, after all, and it would be safer in the Cave. "We should get back to the Watchtower, start investigating who put this here. Whoever they are they're long gone by now, but…" she pointed to the CCTV camera calmly sweeping its gaze over the memorial, "hopefully that'll have something we can use."

Rex's voice drew her attention, and she realised he wasn't listening. He was looking at the huge figure of Lincoln. "You know what we should do?"

She looked up at him. "What?"

"Make this our spot," he said, a little too lightly.

Sarah stilled. Was he...? "Our spot?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, you know, a spot. People have spots."

She raised an eyebrow. "Example?"

"Well your parents met in Paris, right?"

She smiled. Well, Bruce Wayne and Wonder Woman had. Sarah had often made her parents recite the story when she was a child – much to Nicky's disgust – until finally she felt like she'd been there. It must have been wonderful — the most romantic city in the world, their first dance... "More or less," she said finally.

He nodded. "Mine – it's any bar where Mom can start a fight, Superman and his wife–"

"–the roof of the _Daily Planet_," she finished.

"Exactly," he agreed. "So the Lincoln Memorial – that's our spot."

She smirked. "And it no longer belongs to the American people?"

"They've still got the Jefferson Memorial," he pointed out, grinning.

She couldn't help but return the smile. "Alright. But maybe we could let people in to see him when we're not using him."

He nodded thoughtfully. "For a small fee, naturally."

"Naturally," she repeated dryly.

A member of the police climbed up the steps, stopping on the third one from the top. "Are we okay to start letting people back in now, Reaper?"

She nodded calmly. "Yes, Officer." He went back down the steps, and she hefted the backpack onto her back.

Rex put his hand to his com-link. "Warhawk to Watchtower."

"_Watchtower here._"

"Boom tube, Arrow."

"_Opening now._"

A second later, the bright white tunnel appeared in midair, and they stepped into it together. Sarah smiled again at her companion. "So exactly how small is–"

She cut off – the place they had emerged was certainly not the Watchtower. Nor was it the Metrotower. It was still on Earth, but suddenly the countryside, and certainly nowhere near Washington. "–small..." She blinked, turned to her left – to find Rex was nowhere to be seen. "What the hell? Warhawk? Rex!"

She still looked to be alone, and there was no answer. "Reaper to Warhawk, come in!" Nothing. Worried something might have happened to him, she contacted the Watchtower. "Reaper to Watchtower." Nothing but static on her com-link. What in Tartarus was going on here? She tried the Batcave, and got nothing there either. Alarm rising in her, she pulled out her cell phone. _No coverage_. Where in the world _was _she?

Deciding that wherever it was, it was better to err on the side of caution, she took her costume to pieces. She didn't have her civilian clothes with her, but most of her costume was detachable. The hood came off, as did the cape and the sleeves, and the belt, gloves and gauntlets. There wasn't much she could do about the boots, but now she could pass for a biker chick rather than being immediately identified as Reaper.

Hearing the faint sound of a car, she headed toward it, and soon enough found herself standing at the edge of a road. About a hundred yards away, there was a road sign. She walked toward it, and found herself being welcomed to Roundup– "Montana?"

How in _Tartarus _had she ended up in Montana? And where was Rex? They'd entered the boom tube together so there shouldn't have been a way for them to get separated. And the interference on the com-links? She pursed her lips, thinking hard as she started toward town. A solar flare maybe? That could be it. It could cause the boomtube to diverge, knock out the communications with the Watchtower. It seemed likely. Anyway, there would be telephones in Roundup, so she could ring the Cave and order a teleport home.

She was in luck; there was a phone booth outside some of kind of convenience store, and it accepted her quarters with no problem. She dialled the Cave from memory. And got a mechanical female voice in her ear. "_The number you have dialled has not been recognised. Please check, and try again._"

More disbelief. She hadn't gotten in wrong; she'd known that number off by heart since she was seven years old, had never forgotten it. Nor had she misdialed. She gritted her teeth and fished in her belt for more quarters. _Athena give me patience…_

Before she could put them in, though, something else caught her attention from outside. A blonde woman in high heels and a miniskirt rushed past the phone booth, hotly pursued by four leering and jeering young men. Sarah had seen enough attempted rapes to know what would happen next. Leaving the booth, she ran after them. There wasn't time to change again.

When she came around the corner, the woman was already on the ground, surrounded. Reaper charged the man at the back of the group, running and leaping to deliver a hard kick to the back of his head. He went down with a cry, which alerted his companions. The second one had time to draw a switchblade, but no time for anything else before Sarah's fingers had hit three of his pressure points, knocking him out cold. The third grabbed her from behind, one arm around her neck and the other gripping her shoulder. She almost smirked; this was self-defence 101. A stamp on the instep, an elbow in the gut, the heel of a hand crashing the nose in and up, and finally a punch to the groin. The fourth gaped at his groaning, fallen companions and did the only smart thing he could do – he bolted.

Sarah walked over to the blonde woman on the floor and offered her a hand up. "You alright?"

She nodded breathlessly and stood. "Yeah... Man, that was so..._groovy_!"

Sarah raised an eyebrow. _Groovy? _"Um...you're welcome."

"How did you _do _that?"

Thankfully, this woman seemed to have no idea who she was, so the cover story was easy to come up with. "My dad was a Marine. He taught me stuff like that. Plus those guys were just asking to have their asses kicked."

The girl laughed. "Agreed. What's your name, sunshine?"

_Sunshine? _Oh, the blonde hair. "I'm Sarah."

Rather than shaking hands, the other woman hugged her. "Thanks, Sarah. I'm Martha."

Sarah patted her awkwardly on the back until she let go.

It wasn't until a few seconds later, when they emerged from the alley into the glow of the streetlamp, that Sarah actually saw her face in detail. Then she felt the ground fall out from underneath her. Her head swam, her vision blurred and all the blood froze in her veins.

She was looking into the face of her grandmother.

_Great Hera…_

Dizziness swarmed her head, and she must have swayed, since suddenly Martha grabbed her upper arms to hold her steady. "Whoa. You okay there?"

She nodded, then shook her head. Clearing her throat, she forced herself to find some composure from somewhere, and straightened. "Guess one of them must've hit me harder than I realised."

If Martha had noticed that not one of the thugs had laid so much as a finger on Sarah, she didn't say anything. Instead she only took Sarah's hand and led her out of the alley. "C'mon, my van's just around the corner. You can sit down for a second there."

"Yeah… Um, odd question – what year is it?"

"Summer of love, honey," Martha grinned. "1969."

"1969," Sarah repeated in a whisper. "Of course it is. Silly me."

* * *

**A/N: I'm going on the idea that Bruce was born in 1970 rather than 1939 :P This is before his birth. Review please!**


	18. Trips

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! And in answer to one of my anon reviewers, they're using boomtubes because in _Batman Beyond _it's shown they use boomtubes instead of teleports in the future League. **

**Chapter Seventeen—Trips**

Martha laughed at the stunned expression Sarah's expression. "Wow, must've been some trip, huh?"

"Trip?"

"What was it, acid?"

"What?" Sarah choked. "No!"

Martha nodded. "Don't do it? That's good – I never do. Weed sometimes, but that's not really a drug at all is it?"

"Um, isn't it?"

"Where you from, sunshine?" she asked cheerfully.

"Gotham. But last thing I remember I was in D.C. with Rex, my…friend."

Martha's eyes sparkled. "Your friend huh? I had a 'friend' once…"

Sarah forced a smile and took her…grandmother…in properly. Blonde hair, swept upward in a beehive, with a miniskirt, red go-go boots and a strappy top. There were no rings on her fingers, and she only looked in her late twenties. Sarah knew her father wouldn't be born until November 1970, so there was time. Surely she would have to either be with her grandfather now, or about to meet him.

"So what are you going to do now?" Martha asked. "I take it you didn't mean to end up in the back-end of nowhere."

"No."

"Well I'm heading east if you need a a ride? You did just save my life after all. Or at least my–" she cut off, clearing her throat as the apparent seriousness of what had almost just happened to her flooded in. Tears filled her eyes and her fingertips started trembling. Shock. Sarah had seen this quite a lot too, though she never, _ever _stuck around to do anything about it. Now she had no choice.

She took Martha's hands and sat her down next to her. "Don't think about what might have happened," she advised. "It won't help. It _didn't_ – you need to focus on that."

The other woman nodded, and sniffed a little bit, but didn't cry. "You're right. No point in worrying about it now."

"Exactly."

"But you're gonna have to teach me some of those moves, y'know. Never know when I'm going to get attacked again."

If Martha noticed Sarah flinch, she didn't say anything, and wiped her eyes, taking a deep breath. Immediately, Sarah wanted to do she suggested, right now. Teach her to defend herself so that in that fucking alley–

"So, what do you say?"

"Um, well I don't want to put you to too much trouble," she replied. The less time she spent around Martha the better, after all. Less chance of saying something she shouldn't. Thankfully, although they were both blonde, Sarah took after Hippolyta far more than she did the Wayne side of the family in looks. Unless she put her foot in it in a spectacular way, this might be salvageable.

"Don't be stupid! I'm heading east anyway like I said," Martha said, an excited smile on her face.

"How come?"

"There's a festival going on in New York state in about a week. Should be awesome – some _amazing _bands playing. I mean, you're talking the _Grateful Dead, The Who, Creedence Clearwater—_the list goes on! Even _Hendrix _is supposed to be playing!"

"Wait…" Sarah said slowly, incredulity filling her, "are you talking about _Woodstock_?"

"Um, yeah, that's the name of the town. Three days of peace and music."

"Great– Oh my God!"

Martha grinned. "Wanna come?"

Did she! To actually _be _at the greatest music festival of the twentieth – of the _twenty-first _century! And who better to have as a traveling companion but the grandmother she had never–

Sarah sighed. "I'd love to. But I really should be getting back to–" To where, though? To…wherever Rex was. That was the only place she wanted to go. The only place she _could _go.

Martha was watching her closely, a shrewd look on her face. "You want to get back to your boyfriend, don't you? Sunshine, you can't let a guy run your life!"

Sarah snorted. "I don't – believe me. But yeah, I want to get back to my boyfriend. Uh, not that he's _actually _my boyfriend. More than that. Less."

Martha laughed. "Maybe you should just come to Woodstock. Save yourself a lot of confusion. And if you ended up in Roundup, God only knows where _he _ended up."

* * *

"So exactly how small is…"

When Sarah's voice trailed off unexpectedly, Rex looked to his left, expecting to see her sharp eyes focused on something imperceptibly small but vitally important. But she wasn't there at all. In fact this wasn't the Watchtower. This was…a very small, very dark room.

"Reaper?"

"Argh!"

From nowhere, the shape of a man rushed toward him, wielding what looked like a small wooden stool. It hit Rex square in the chest before he had time to do anything about it – and did nothing but splinter against his armour. It didn't even make him take a step back. The stool was followed by a fist. Equally harmless for him, but not for the person punching him. Who immediately snatched his hand back with a loud curse of pain.

"Ow! Jesus fucking Christ what are you, a robot?"

There was a tiny flare of light, and then a larger, steadier light as a candle was lit. The man who'd attacked him came into clearer focus. When he looked at Rex, his grey eyes widened in fear. "Oh my _God_ you are!"

"No, no, I'm not," Rex said quickly. "Member of the Justice League yes, robot no."

"The _what _league?"

"The _Justice _League."

"Again: the _what _League?"

"Never mind."

Ignoring the man, Rex moved to the door and tried the door handle. He used the strength that any normal man would have – he had more, naturally – but the door didn't open. He used a modicum more, and still nothing.

"The door's locked," his companion said unnecessarily. "From the outside. By them."

"Them?"

"Kidnappers. Hey, you said you were justice right? That mean you're here to rescue me?"

"Depends. Did you call for League assistance?"

"What? Of course not!"

"Then no. But rescuing people is what I do, so yeah, I'm here to rescue you."

The man looked at him for a second with a hard, flat glare that was unsettlingly familiar, before nodding and smiling. He stood, offered his hand. "I'm Tom. And you are?"

"Warhawk."

"That's not a name so much as a title, you know."

"That's all you're getting."

"Fine, then I won't tell you my last name."

Rex folded his arms across his broad chest. "If I'm going to rescue you, I need to know who's holding you. In order to understand that properly, I'm going to need to know _why _they kidnapped you, where we are, and who _you _are, in that order. Start talking."

"One – my family is insanely rich. Two – I _think _we're somewhere behind the Iron Curtain. Three, I'm Thomas Franklin Wayne. Done talking."

* * *

Sarah was thinking hard. Thinking wasn't unusual, not for her, but she found herself unable to remember the last time she'd had to think _hard _about anything. There were just too many variables here. Mostly it depended on what had happened to cause her to end up here. Both she and Rex had been in the same boomtube, so if it had been an accident or a freak of science then he could very well have been taken off course too. But the odds of that were limited – it wasn't just the geography that had gone wrong, it was the chronology of it as well. That indicated that her ending up here hadn't been an accident. Someone had designed it so that she was trapped in 1969. If it was a targeted attack against her specifically then Rex would probably have been spared. The possibility that it had been an attack against _Rex _chilled her blood.

In any case, she was in 1969, and the way home was not going to be found in Roundup Montana. Plus it would be better for her to keep moving – it was the height of the Cold War, and she had a nuclear bomb in her backpack. She doubted the authorities would accept she was an American citizen who wouldn't be born for another thirty six years.

_I just wish I knew where he was…_

She didn't realise she'd spoken aloud when Martha chuckled again. "Well where did you leave him?"

"Washington. Lincoln…" she trailed off feeling a revelation rise up in her chest, leaving a wake of excitement in its wake. "…_Memorial_," she said slowly.

"Lincoln Memorial?"

"Yeah, he said–" she coloured lightly. "He said it was our spot."

Martha's face brightened. "So he could be waiting for you there then."

"He could be," Sarah nodded. In fact he _had _to be. Though how did she know that? And she did _know _it. This wasn't a case of likelihoods or thinking about it. She just knew. Rex was either there, or he'd have the same idea as she had. She just prayed he'd take it on faith and follow the thread which led to her.

She turned to her grandmother. "Can you give me a lift as far as New York? I can get a train to D.C. from there."

"Of course! Come on, we can get going now," she smiled.

Ten minutes later, Sarah found herself sitting in the passenger seat of a Volkswagen Type 2 van, with her dead twenty-seven-year-old grandmother at the wheel. At least starting off in Montana there was little chance of them needing to go through Oklahoma to get to New York. The irony of her situation wasn't lost on her.

There were a lot of parallels here, she had to admit, or enough to make her a little uncomfortable. Of course she was missing a Green Lantern, but in getting lost with Rex she kind of had two in one – the man she was attracted to and the son of John Stewart. Even if she wasn't actually with Rex at the moment. She was pretty confident she would be again soon, as long as he'd had the same idea she did and was headed to D.C. Uncharacteristically, she had no idea where that faith had come from, just that it was there. If he wasn't in the same world, the same time as her, she'd feel cold and… alone.

Had she been arrogant, she wondered? Thinking that she could forge her own destiny and choose her future without regard to what the Fates or the gods had in mind for her? And every sign they sent to her seemed to indicate that she wasn't meant to cut himself off. She wasn't meant to be alone. Hera knew trying hadn't worked at all, and that wasn't even bringing into account what Aphrodite had told her all those years ago. Well, there were two choices. She could try harder to be Reaper alone, or she could take her mother's advice. The gods had seen fit to mold and shape her life so far, so who was she to tell them to stop now? It hadn't led her into danger after all. Or, at least, not life-threatening danger. That is, not life-threatening danger that she couldn't handle. Perhaps there was something she was supposed to be learning from a repeat of her parents' journey.

_I'll just have to make sure I don't get pregnant, _she thought half-amusedly.

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	19. Sunshine and the Flyboy

**I've published the book! _Arthur's Witch: The Priestess_ is now available on Kindle and Smashwords, and you can download the sample for free, so it's gotta be worth a look! The blurb is below.**

_**Morgan le Fay is a woman shrouded in infamy. The original wicked witch, she is responsible for bringing the golden age of Arthur to a catastrophic end. Though evil guile, ruthless ambition and petty jealousy, she stood against the light of Britain's first Christian King, her own brother. She watched an entire kingdom burn. A subhuman monster who consorted with demons and became the Devil's mistress. **_

_**Or a woman shrouded in mystery. The original fairy godmother, she is responsible for creating the golden age of Arthur from the ground to the ramparts of Camelot. Though passion, purity of spirit and selflessness, she stood against the religious perversion which invaded her homeland and corrupted her King, her own brother. She protected an entire kingdom as a mother would a child. A High Priestess whose name and legend have been besmirched and besmeared by lesser men.**_

_**Her own story. Now told.**_

* * *

**A/N: I know, crazy right? First _Gunpowder_, now this. But here is the first chapter of Oklahoma Part III in I think almost a year. Hope you enjoy it!  
**

**Chapter Eighteen—Sunshine and the Flyboy**

Nick sighed as he closed the umpteenth cupboard door, still empty-handed. It was no good. He was going to have to bite the bullet and do it. He was going to have to broach the subject with his father. Where was Sarah when you needed her? Or Alfred, in fact, Alfred would be the ideal person in this situation. He had always known where everything was. Of course, finding that out would involve a trip to the afterlife, and while he was on good terms with most of the Olympic pantheon, Hades was an exception. Something about him trying to kill Mom so much had always set Nick's teeth on edge.

As he came to his door of Bruce's study, he took a deep breath before knocking on the door. He wasn't nervous — not of his own father — but this had to be approached from the right way. Always a delicate subject, though he didn't think the answer would be no. It was for a good reason after all.

"Come in, Nick."

He pushed open the door with a sigh. "You know, a man of your age shouldn't be able to do that, Dad."

"A man of my age shouldn't be able to kick your ass either, but that doesn't mean I can't," his dad commented from behind a copy of the _Gotham Gazette_.

Nick smirked. "Good to know."

Bruce put the paper away. "You alright?"

"Fine. You?"

"Fine."

"I want you to help me with something."

"Anything."

"I'm putting together a photo album, for the baby. When it comes. I have this probably stupid image in my head of us going through them together when she's about eighteen. That is, if it is a girl. If it's a boy then I don't imagine he's going to be that interested in looking through old photos with his dad."

"You weren't."

"Exactly. But at some point, I imagine it's going to be a good thing to have. There's just one problem."

"Which is?"

"I can't find any photographs of your parents."

There was a small pause, during which tried to read something — anything — from his dad's face. Then Bruce said, "They're in the safe."

"I looked in the safe."

"The one in the Cave."

"Oh. Didn't look there. Is it okay if I make copies of some of them?"

His father gave him a strange look. "You can take the originals, Nick."

Nick raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Sure?"

"They're your grandparents, and they'll be the baby's great grandparents. I trust you to be careful with them, and you've got every right to them. Just try not to get fingermarks on them."

Nick's face split into a wide grin. "Thanks, Dad!" He clapped his father on the shoulder, grimaced apologetically for the grunt of pain that elicited, then left through the clock.

"Okay, grandparents, grandparents…" Nick rifled through the album, finding a _lot _of pictures of his father as a child, his father with Thomas, his father with Martha—but Nick was after something specific. After another moment, he found it. "Gotcha!"

It was their wedding photograph. It hadn't been a big event, considering Thomas' income and status; just the two of them and a couple of witnesses, he remembered Alfred telling he and Sarah as children. The photograph reflected that: Thomas wore wore a shirt, dark jacket and trousers, while Martha's dress was very short, though white and lacy. One her feet she had white go-go boots. Smiling, Nick pulled the photo out of its setting and stuck it down carefully in the photo album for the baby. He almost closed the album and went hunting for the next photo, but something stopped him. He found himself looking at the people either side of his grandparents, and then staring at them. On the back of the photo was, _Me and Tommy with Sunshine and Flyboy. _

"Great Hera!"

Less than a minute later, he went flying—literally—into his dad's study, photo in hand. Without a word, he landed and put the photo into Bruce's hand. Bruce took less than five seconds to see what the deal was.

"Is that-?"

Nick nodded. "Either reincarnation and past lives are real, or…"

"Or Sarah and Rex were at my parents' wedding," Bruce finished.

* * *

**1969**

Thomas accepted the explanation Rex gave him relatively well. He didn't buy it, of course, not for a second, but he didn't argue it either. Rex couldn't blame him for not swallowing the 'I'm a supersoldier in a high-tech battle suit' story. It had been hastily thought up and not very well executed, and even if it had been, it still wasn't a good story. But Rex wasn't sure how well 'I'm a half-alien from the future here with your granddaughter' would go down either. At least he hoped he was here with Sarah. Somewhere. _She better be alright_.

"So you're taking me to the US embassy, yes?"

"Yeah. And from there I'm going to search for my…partner. She came with me but we got separated somehow."

Thomas nodded. "So how we busting out?"

"_We're _not. I am. Stay here, and stay down."

"That door's locked," Thomas said, as Rex checked his armour was in working order.

Rex adjusted his helmet. "Who said anything about the door?"

He burst through the thick concrete wall in a shower of rubble and dust, to shocked cries and a scream or two from the men behind it. They all started yelling in Russian, curses from the sounds of them. It wouldn't be long before the disbelief ran out and the gunfire started, so Rex charged at the nearest kidnapper, throwing him over his shoulder, and into the wall of the room _he _had just vacated. He just registered Thomas ducking in the nick of time. The next kidnapper raised his machine gun, but Rex simply snatched it from his hands and bent it in half, rendering it completely useless. The third one got a shot off, showering Rex in a spray of bullets which sparked off his armour, until the kidnapper was backhanded into unconsciousness. The fourth and fifth ones were lifted bodily and had their heads knocked rather forcefully together, then were tossed aside. The sixth one got another few shots off, one of which found a weak spot in Warhawk's armour, just between his shoulder and chest-plate. It didn't do too much damage, and only resulted in a flesh wound. It still meant that he had to pick the final kidnapper up with his left arm and yank his gun away with a small grimace of pain.

A few moments later, everything was quiet, and the dust was settling. Thomas stepped through the hole in the wall surveying the damage. "Subtle, aren't you?"

"Thank you will suffice."

Thomas frowned. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing."

"Let me look at it, take that armour off. C'mon, I'm a doctor."

Rex paused. He vaguely remembered Sarah mentioning one of her grandparents had been medical in some capacity, and Thomas was already crossing to a dirty-looking box with a red cross on it. Opening the lid though, the supplies inside seemed to be intact and sanitary, so Rex let Thomas clean the injury and put a large square of gauze over it.

"What were you doing this side of the Iron Curtain anyway?" Rex asked.

"I _wasn't _this side of the Iron Curtain—I wasn't even this side of the Berlin Wall, I was working in a hospital in West Berlin when they snatched me on the way home from work."

"There aren't hospitals in America?"

Thomas avoided his gaze. "Sure there are."

"Then why not work at one of them, where you're not going to be kidnapped by communists?" There was no reply. "Mr Wayne?"

"Call me Tom."

"That's not answering my question, _Tom_."

"What's it to you?"

"I don't like it when people willingly put themselves in danger."

Thomas snorted. "Thought you said you were a soldier."

"I don't like it when _civilians _put themselves in danger," Rex amended.

Thomas finished patching his injury and then put the lid back on the first aid box. "None of the hospitals state-side would have pissed my old man off enough," he shrugged.

"Oh. So is there any point in me actually rescuing you if you're going to come right back?"

"Believe me, being kidnapped once is enough to last a man a life time. I'm not stepping foot outside of Gotham the rest of my life." He paused. "Besides, there'd be no one to answer the ransom demand now. Dad's dead. Died the morning I was kidnapped and I didn't get a chance to tell anyone."

Rex put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry."

Thomas shrugged. "Happens. He was sick anyway. Cancer."

"Still not easy."

There was another silence, and when Thomas spoke again, his voice was slightly hoarser, his eyes slightly brighter. "No. I…I didn't think I was going to get home in time to bury him, if I'm honest."

Rex tried for a comforting smile. "We'll get you there."

* * *

Sarah made Martha stop the van as soon as they reached the next large-ish town—instinct wanted her to blend in, and she couldn't very well do that in what she was currently wearing. She had clean underwear (never go anywhere without clean underwear; it was a lesson her mother had drilled into her a long time ago), but nothing that was in the style of the day. Nothing that wouldn't raise a few eyebrows and questioning looks. People taking notice was the last thing she wanted right now. Thankfully—and unlike most superrich people—she always carried cash, and the man at the clothing store didn't notice the date on the bills she handed over. But then again, she had blinded him with the trademark megawatt smile. She came out of the store much more suitably attired: sandals, maxi skirt that was billowy and cool against her legs, and a gypsy blouse that bared her shoulders. Her hair was down, falling down to mid-back in soft blonde waves.

Self-consciously she twirled in front of her grandmother. "Well?"

She beamed. "Totally groovy."

Sarah grinned. "Thanks, Martha. Sorry about the wait."

"No problem, sunshine, I'm cool. You ready to get going?"

"Absolutely."

Driving across country with her grandmother was certainly an experience. She had a record player in the back of the van, which she played music on all the time, even at night. It was a good thing Sarah had trained herself to be able to snatch sleep when she needed it, since otherwise it never would have happened. The first night though, she didn't want to sleep. This was Hendrix, The Who, Santana, the Grateful Dead…music that was legendary even in her time, _and _it was the Sixties. She had heard these records as classics, yet now there were new. It was somehow exciting in a way it never had been before. In addition, the idea of her grandmother being a true hippie was not one she had ever considered. It was inescapably true, though. She was completely against conflict of almost any kind, consulted the I Ching, had an ambition to live in a _commune_, and while Sarah wouldn't have called her a communist, it wouldn't have been a far stretch either. She certainly believed in sharing the wealth. Sarah wondered how and when these strong ideals would fade or change when she met her grandfather. Would she view the huge amounts of money that came with Thomas Wayne as a necessary evil to be with the man she loved, or an opportunity to help people?

In the back of the van there were several anti-war signs that she was apparently going to take to a rally against the Vietnam War after Woodstock, riot police be damned. There was also a fairly sizable stock of weed, something else that Sarah was having a hard time coming to terms with. Martha didn't appear to be a drug addict, and only had a joint once every few days, but it still wasn't something Sarah could condone. By the twenty-second century, drug laws were extremely tight, and she had never so much as touched a cigarette in her life. It was like suddenly discovering leeches still being used in commonly practiced medicine.

She kept her views mostly to herself—Martha was her only way across the country to D.C. after all, and she didn't want to get there in an atmosphere of tension. She did persuade Martha to let her drive though, though she felt a little guilty about how forceful she had to be. But whether it was the weed or the general Sixties atmosphere, Martha seemed to take everything so casually that she didn't have a problem at all.

"Man, sunshine, you drive so _slowly_."

"You mean I drive within the speed limit."

"There's no such thing. Everyone is free to go at their own pace, completely free."

Sarah glanced behind her, to where Martha sat in the back of the van with the yarrow stalks and silk banner out. "The I Ching tell you that one?"

"No, sunshine…it's like, the _universe's rule_."

Sarah suppressed a grin. "I'll keep that in mind."

Martha pulled herself into the passenger seat next to Sarah, shooting a childish grin at her. "Are we nearly there yet?"

"Check yourself. Map's in the back."

Martha went immediately back to the rear of the van without comment. There was a few minutes of shuffling and rummaging around, then a silence. "Well?" Sarah asked over her shoulder, "Found it?"

"Not exactly… Hey, sunshine?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you an alien?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow. Strange, she hadn't seen Martha light a joint today… "An alien?"

"Yeah. As in from Mars, an extraterrestrial, not of this world," Martha elaborated, sounding as though each possibility was both unalarming and completely possible.

"No, Martha, I'm definitely an Earthling."

"Oh." She sat back in the passenger seat, holding Sarah's utility belt in her hands. "Then what the heck is this thing?"

Then she tried to open one of the pouches.

* * *

**A/N: Review please**


	20. Leaving the Eastern Bloc is Tricky

**A/N: Well, you asked for it - here is the next chapter of the Oklahoma saga. I hope you enjoy, and thank you to the brilliant Angel Queen for the beta :)  
**

**Chapter Nineteen—Leaving the Eastern Bloc is Tricky  
**

Martha was unconscious for no more than ten minutes. It still didn't make Sarah feel better though. Those booby-traps were designed for _criminals_, not for unsuspecting grandmothers. Not that Martha was a grandmother _yet_, of course, but logic like that wasn't doing a good job of making the guilt go away. She was cursing herself chiefly for her thoughtlessness; she had dangerous equipment with her, not least a _nuclear bomb_, and she'd not told Martha anything about any of it. Even a 'don't touch that' would have sufficed.

Martha was appeared unharmed. The electric shock that Reaper's utility belt had delivered was designed to incapacitate, not kill, so while her limbs had seized violently, her heart hadn't been badly affected and when she woke she would be fine. If pretty annoyed - Sarah somehow doubted that her laissez-faire attitude would extend to electric shocks from her companion's mysterious equipment.

She woke with a groan, putting a hand to her frizzy head. "Ow…"

"Martha?" Sarah kept her voice as soft, as soothing as she could. "Can you hear me?"

"Sunshine, you been keeping secrets from me?"

"Um…"

Martha sat up groggily with Sarah's help. "What _was _that?"

"That would be a booby-trap. You shouldn't have tried to open the pouch. Unless you do it in a specific way, you get an electric shock, like the one you just did."

"_Why_ would you have a booby-trap on a _belt_?"

"Maybe we should get you to a hospital," Sarah said, hoping to deflect the question. "Are you feeling okay? Headache? Nausea? It's not uncommon to —"

Martha proved that while she was a hippie, and while she smoked a fair amount of weed, she was far from stupid. She knew when she was being the subject of a distraction technique. "Sunshine," she said, her voice uncharacteristically hard, "stop talking unless you're going to answer my questions."

"I'm sorry."

"Are you going to answer my questions? Because if you're not then you can get out of this van and _walk_ to D.C.!"

Sarah debated with herself. She obviously could not tell Martha everything. She couldn't even tell her most of it. But then, she didn't _need_ to know most of it. The truth was so big and complicated that even a little would satisfy. And it was unlikely Martha would demand the names of her parents or grandparents. "I can answer your questions."

"Good," Martha said firmly. "Because the first one you still haven't."

"Right. My belt is booby-trapped because it contains some very sensitive and… classified equipment."

"Are you military?"

"No."

"How can it be classified if you're not military?"

"You saw the level of technology. I have more, and it's not like anything anyone else has. I can't allow anyone else to have it."

"Okay, I'll ask again…are you an alien?"

Sarah's mouth twitched up in a brief smile. "No, I told you the truth with that one."

"Then… are you from the future or something?" The silence stretched on, and Martha's jaw dropped. "No _fucking_ way."

Sarah waited for the shock to subside into either disbelief or acceptance. Judging by how wide Martha's eyes were, it was going to be the latter. It took her approximately thirty-five seconds for her to take her hands down from her mouth, and when she spoke it was in a hushed whisper, like they were in a crowded room full of eavesdroppers rather than completely alone on the side of a deserted highway.

"Like… how far in the future?"

"About seventy years."

"Oh my _God_."

Sarah cocked her head inquisitively. "I'm surprised you believe me."

Despite her shock, Martha managed a faint smile. "It makes sense, Sunshine, and I'm not so narrow-minded that I can't believe the _possibility_, but… It's a lot to take in."

"True. And are you taking it in?"

"Yeah, I think so. Just give me a minute."

Knowing she would probably need more like twenty, Sarah clambered back into the front of the van and started the engine again, driving back onto the road and continuing. She didn't want to, but if she had to then she'd steal a car and hotwire it to D.C. After a moment, Martha joined her in the front, settling into the passenger seat.

"So that belt has all your time-travel equipment in it?"

"Yeah. My backpack too."

"And the booby-traps are to stop people from stealing it?"

"Exactly."

"Gotcha. So why are you in 1969, if you're from…2030-ish?"

"Accident. I'm not a professional time-traveller or anything, I was just trying to get home. There was a solar flare that interfered with our… long-distance travel device."

"'Long distance travel device'?" Martha asked.

"Well, it's called a boom tube, but I figured that wouldn't mean much to you."

"You figured right," Martha nodded. "And by 'we', you mean your boyfriend don't you?"

"Yeah. We work together."

"And you're trying to get back to the future?"

Sarah couldn't help but giggle a bit. She'd watched a lot of those classic movies when she was a kid – now suddenly she was Marty McFly. "Yes. Hopefully Rex will have a better idea of how to do that than I do right now."

That was unlikely. Rex was wonderful in a million ways – he was intelligent, he was kind, he was brave and generous… but he wasn't an expert in temporal physics. Nor was she, for that matter, but at least she was an expert in normal, nuclear and theoretical physics, which hopefully was a good place to start. And who knew, with the blessings of the gods, maybe Rex had found some way of getting them back home. They had given her Martha, after all.

Martha's soft laughter woke up from her reverie. "What?"

"You, Sunshine, being all smitten."

"I'm _not_ smitten!" Sarah winced inwardly. She'd practically just _squawked_, for goodness' sake!

"You are a smitten kitten," the other woman shot back, grinning. "Eyes in the middle distance, lovesick smile on your face, blush on your cheeks…"

Having had attention drawn to them, Sarah's cheeks now began to flush in earnest, and she had to work to force the blush down. "_Anyway_, yes, we need to get back to the future."

"Well, then we definitely have to get you to D.C. then, don't we? Forget Woodstock, we'll head straight to Washington."

"Martha, New York will be fine, I can make my own way from there —"

"In an unfamiliar time, without any clear idea of how to get there?" Martha shook her head. "No, Sunshine, I'm coming with you. Besides, it's just another music festival. How many times am I gonna be able to help a time traveller get back to her own time?"

Sarah smiled, though it was a little strained. She couldn't ever imagine anyone who'd been there describing Woodstock as 'just another music festival'. Also, she was a little wary of allowing Martha to come with her at all. By dropping into her life like this, she'd disrupted Martha's personal history and perhaps changed her own ancestral history, and probably not for the better. The rest of that day (and the day after) was spent fielding questions from Martha, deciding carefully which ones she could answer and which she couldn't – and if she could answer them, to what degree she could answer them. Trivial questions about movies, or fashions, she could explain without problems.

Questions like, "When does the Vietnam War end?" were slightly more difficult. Not least because Martha would be disappointed to learn that it still had (almost) another six years left to run, and she wasn't sure how she'd take learning it would be a bitter humiliation for the US. She was, however, happy to assure her that another atomic weapon would never be used, by anyone.

They reached Chicago late the next day and decided to find a hotel to stay for the night. They both needed a break from the road, and Sarah was itching to get some exercise. Even if it was just to go for a run around a park, she needed fresh air. What actually happened though, was that they got a hotel room, went out for dinner at a diner that served greasy, tasteless things masquerading as burgers and other greasy, tasteless things masquerading as milkshakes. Sarah didn't consider herself to be a snob – but she had to admit that her taste-buds were pretty snobbish. They had developed on Alfred's cooking, and matured on the best Michelin starred food her father's money could buy. Grey patties served on gluey bread washed down with lumpy drink were not something she enjoyed, so she went mostly hungry. The fries were fine, though. Martha didn't seem to mind, and wolfed down her meal and then polished off Sarah's too. After that they went back to their hotel, Martha disappearing into the bathroom to take a shower.

Looking out of the open window, Sarah was reminded of Gotham. It wasn't quite the same – there were far too few skyscrapers for that – but it had the same slightly dingy quality; the same harried-looking citizens, the same rain. There was a sudden, sharp sound of a gunshot, and she flinched. Chalk up another similarity to Gotham. A thought striking her, Sarah peered out of the window, looking both down at the street twenty stories below and up at the roof. It would be risky. She didn't know the city well, and she was stuck outside her own time… but she had been looking to blow off some steam. When Martha came out of the bathroom, Sarah made out like she'd changed her mind about going outside, and they both went to bed.

It took only about twenty minutes for Martha's breathing to settle down into sleep, and then Sarah got up. She was good at moving silently, and she dressed in her Reaper gear and headed out the window.

Chicago wasn't Gotham, and its criminals were, well, _pussies_ compared to the ones she dealt with at home. After all, they'd had decades of one hero or another beating the crap out of them, whereas in Chicago it was entirely new. The melting out of the dark only to melt just as instantly back into it was still wonderfully effective. She didn't stay out the whole night – only till about three a.m. It had been fairly satisfying; four armed robberies, three race-hate crimes (and that had been shocking, to say the least), and one attempted rape. She'd scoped out the city so that she knew where the police stations were ahead of time, and dumped the perpetrators there.

When she got back to the hotel (after getting very slightly lost, and waking up a nice elderly couple innocently sleeping in the room below), it was to find Martha still in bed. Although sitting up. And with the light on. And looking even more maddeningly curious than she had before.

"Is sneaking out in the middle of the night a habit of yours, Sunshine?"

Sarah sighed, pulled back her hood and removed the mask. "Yes," she said honestly.

"I was worried."

"You were supposed to be asleep."

"You were supposed to have told me everything. So what else are you, apart from a time-traveller?"

"A vigilante crime fighter."

"What, you just patrol the whole of the country looking for criminals and then _kill_ them?"

"Never killing them," Sarah said firmly. "Just dealing with the ones the police can't, and handing them over. And I'm based in Gotham."

"Never been to Gotham. No offence but I don't think I want to if it needs vigilantes …"

"It doesn't," Sarah said quickly, "and it won't for many decades to come. As it is now, I'm sure you'd love it."

"Maybe. It is supposed to have a great music scene."

Reassured she had not just inadvertently destroyed her own family, Sarah changed out of the rest of her suit and slipped into the bed next to Martha's. Martha was watching her closely.

"So how do you take down the criminals without killing them?"

"Using martial arts."

"Like in movies?"

"No," Sarah shook her head, "like used in the East for millennia."

"How'd you learn them?"

"From my father," she said. "He's a master."

"In which ones?"

Sarah grinned, unable to keep a note of pride from entering her tone. "All of them."

"Ooh, Daddy's girl, huh? Does Rex know what he's getting into?" Before Sarah could think of a reply to that, Martha cracked a teasing smile. "I'm kidding, Sunshine. I think the crime-fighting thing crazy, but it's truly groovy."

"Thanks." _I think you'd be proud of all that Daddy's done_, she wished she could add.

"How long you been doing it?"

Sarah smiled wryly. It looked like she wasn't going to be sleeping at all tonight.

* * *

There was thick cloud cover over Eastern Europe. Tom and Rex were not far into it; in fact they were still in Germany as far as Tom could tell, and they were able to fly as far as Berlin. There, however, the cloud stopped. Tom was not-so-secretly relieved. When Rex had suggested the idea that he simply _fly_ them, Tom had instantly blanched.

"No way. I don't like flying in a fucking _plane_, let alone on a pair of tin-foil wings attached to someone I just met."

"Actually, they're Nth metal. It's the strongest element in the galaxy."

"And just how many other planets has NASA been to?" Tom demanded. "As far as I know the Moon landing hasn't happened yet."

"Classified," was Rex's reply, though inwardly he was kicking himself.

He had to be more careful about what he said. A few wrong words and the entire history of the '70s could be re-written. Not to mention he could accidentally erase the Wayne family – Sarah's family. Although he wouldn't put it past her to find a way to will herself back into existence just so she could kick his ass if he managed to create that kind of disaster.

Thankfully, Tom only raised an eyebrow and left it at that. "Regardless, I'm not doing it."

"Okay then: do you have any ideas on how to cross Soviet-controlled East Germany with no money and with me dressed like this?" Rex asked testily.

"…no."

"Then we do it my way."

Over the rush of the wind, Rex could barely hear him, but he was fairly sure Tom kept up a steady stream of invectives directed at him and his parents. It didn't bother him. Most of the curses that Tom was likely muttering had nothing on the Thanagarian profanity Rex had grown up hearing his mother use. Some of them were _still _bad enough to make him blush, even as an adult. Whatever Tom was saying, though, Rex heard him mumbling from the moment his feet left the ground to the moment they touched it again.

Which was still on the wrong side of the Berlin Wall. They'd managed to get so far because they were small enough not to be picked up on radar, and because the weather had been on their side. It had been starting to thin in the final approach to the capital city, however, and now they'd been forced to land, or risk being spotted by trigger-happy Soviets. They were roughly two hundred feet from the wall, only on this side there were two fences. A barbed wire one, patrolled by soldiers, and then about twenty feet beyond that, the huge mass of concrete. Rex knew from old news footage, mainly from his high school history classes, that on the other side, it would be scrawled with graffiti – not so on this side. Even to him it looked forbidding, designed to intimidate. It was very strange to see. In Rex's time this thing was a vestige of the past – important, yes, but a… mistake, to say the least.

_Strange_, he thought again, _strange, and very surreal. _"So," he finally spoke out loud, "how do we get across that thing?"

They were in the shelter of a factory building, having touched down a few minutes before. It was about an hour or two until daylight, at which point they'd need somewhere to hide. It wouldn't be as simple as finding a hotel; Rex had nothing to wear but his armour, and absolutely no money on him. It wasn't even as though they could go to the U.S. Embassy and request asylum – in 1969, there simply wasn't one in Berlin at all.

"We could try Checkpoint Charlie," Tom suggested.

Rex sent him a sceptical look. "The Soviets will probably shoot us for even trying. And if they didn't, then the Americans on the other side might well shoot us for being spies."

"Of course they wouldn't! America's the good guy in this!"

"It's the Cold War. Even the good guys aren't thinking straight."

"What kind of soldier _are_ you?" Tom muttered.

Rex ignored that. "Have you got any money?"

"Sure. I've got a couple hundred dollars and some Deutsche Marks. Neither of which is going to be any use to us this side of the wall."

Rex wasn't up to speed on the details, but he assumed that meant East Germany used a different currency to West. Fortunately, he was reminded of the men who had kidnapped Tom. He'd searched them after they had been knocked out, taken and disposed of their weapons. And relieved them of their wallets. It had only been a precaution, but now it would be useful. He pulled the wallets out of his armour and handed them over to Tom. "There enough in those?"

The other man counted it out the currency. "Three hundred twenty-two East German Marks. Yeah, this should get us a room somewhere."

"Get it for one, and let me in through the window. No point in raising more attention than we have to."

"Agreed, but could you keep any eye on me?" Tom asked jokingly. "I'd rather not get kidnapped again."

Rex had assumed that was all it could be, a jest. He found out, two hours later, that _all_ the members of the Wayne family had a penchant for crime, some of them for fighting it, and others for attracting it.

Thomas Wayne fell into the latter category.

He'd only gone out to get food and clothes for Rex. Rex could see the food store from the window of the hotel, and he'd kept an eye on Thomas. He went to the clothing store first, and Rex watched him come back and go into the food store. Then he made the mistake of taking his eye off of him. Because then a suspiciously long time passed without seeing Tom again. Or rather, between seeing him exit the food store and him _not_ coming back to the hotel.

Rex had nothing else to wear, but he was equally sure that something had gone wrong, so he jumped out the window and immediately heard exclamations and screams erupt from beneath him. Rex couldn't care less; he was scanning the alleyways and streets for any sign of Tom.

It took a few minutes, but he found him – in one of the less well-lit alleys, and it seemed like some terrible precursor to what he knew would one day come, Rex saw with a sick feeling in his stomach. This assailant didn't have a gun, though, just a knife. He already had Tom's wallet in his hands, but seemed to be demanding more.

"_Es gibt keine_," Tom urged in reply.

The criminal who'd just mugged him opened his mouth – but then didn't get a chance to get anything out of it. A half-Thanagarian had just landed on top of him. A few ribs snapped, maybe a collarbone, but no skulls, Rex made sure. Then he faced Tom, struggling to control the jolt of real fear he'd been feeling ever since he'd spotted the mugger threatening Sarah's future grandfather.

"Man," Tom gaped, his eyes wide, "I am glad you're one of the good guys."

"An alleyway, Mr. Wayne?" Rex demanded. "_Really_?"

"It was a shortcut!"

"A shortcut to being mugged!"

"Well I didn't know I was going to _get _mugged, did I? And it's _Tom_."

Rex sighed and helped him pick up the fallen items of food and clothing, while still trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart. It started to rain as they did so, which was a good thing for Rex. People didn't tend to look at the sky when it rained, their heads bowed as they hurried inside. He wasn't waiting any more; the longer they stayed in East Germany the longer Tom had to get himself in trouble. Not to mention it wasn't getting him to Sarah any faster either.

"Come on, we're crossing over."

"But —"

"Non-negotiable," Rex said firmly. "Buckle up."

Tom didn't really have much time for objections before he'd been bodily lifted into the air, through the rain clouds – getting them both soaked in the process – and set down on the safe side of the Berlin Wall. The perfect place had presented itself for a landing site – an apartment building that had been gutted by fire. Admittedly, that meant that the roof looked solid but decidedly wasn't, and they fell through it, ten feet onto the floor below.

Tom stood up, brushing off his clothes with an unimpressed expression. "That could have gone better."

"I don't see how," Rex returned, deadpan. "We're in West Berlin, aren't we?"

Twenty minutes later, Rex was dressed in the civvies procured in Easter Berlin, his armour safely hidden away in the burned-out building where hopefully no one would ever find it. He and Tom left the building and tried to walk down the street as normally as possible.

"I need to get to a phone," Tom said. "Let my people know I'm safe." Then he shivered. "God. Not two weeks ago they were my dad's people."

"You'll get used to it," Rex said comfortingly.

"Maybe. Come on, my house isn't far."

Rex felt a little guilty that he wasn't more interested in their surroundings. He'd never been to modern Berlin as a tourist, and this was past Berlin, Berlin right in the middle of history. He should be looking eagerly around and absorbing it all – but he couldn't care less. All he actually wanted was to get away from Berlin, to America and Washington. To where _she'd_ be waiting. And the first step to that was getting to Tom's home.

When they arrived there, it was to find the house full of police, security officers of Wayne Enterprises and someone from the American embassy. All of whom wanted rapid explanations. By the time they'd got through the, "Where were you being held?", the "Who took you?" and the "How the hell did you get free?" questions, it had all led nicely onto who exactly Rex was.

He would have been a moron if he hadn't expected something like this, so the cover story had been worked on and perfected. And Plus, Tom kept his mouth shut as the the parts that had changed since he'd heard it the first time.

"Lieutenant Rex Hol, on assignment from the Justice League division, codename Warhawk."

The attaché he was speaking to looked sceptical. "Justice League division?" he scoffed. "There's no such thing."

"It's classified above your clearance level," Rex said smoothly.

The other man looked affronted at such an idea, but since the lie had been convincing, he didn't question it. It might have also had something to do with the fact that he was, at most, five foot four and weedy in comparison to Rex's height and bulk. None of the police looked ready to question it either. They were all just happy than an American as prominent as Thomas Wayne had been returned to West Berlin without a massive diplomatic incident exploding in their faces.

"Well… what are your orders?"

"My assignment was to retrieve Mr. Wayne from the Soviet bloc and return him to Gotham safely."

"We can take over from here," one of the security staff said.

Rex shook his head. "My orders are clear. I'm to leave Mr. Wayne's side only when he is on American soil."

"I'm sure that's not —"

This one was harder to intimidate than the attaché, so Rex tried another tack. He let his gaze turn flatly determined, straightened his stance a little more and thanked God his father had always taught him 'to stand like a soldier'. "Orders are orders, sir," he said.

The security officer looked at Tom. "Mr. Wayne, are you happy with this?"

"He's saved my life, Jim," Tom said, obviously familiar with the man, "and he's one of the good guys. I'll feel safer with him around."

"Yes, sir. I'll see if I can have the company plane flown out here to pick you up."

After taking a cursory statement from Tom, the German police went. The attaché wasn't slow to follow, and the still-frightened glance he gave Rex indicated that he wasn't going to be digging too deep to confirm his story. The security officers positioned themselves all around the property, with Jim making the call. It didn't seem like he was having much luck, and he put the phone down shaking his head.

"Can't get the company plane to Berlin. I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne, but they wouldn't give it clearance."

"Where _can_ we get it?"

"Paris is the closest."

"Train?"

Thomas nodded, but then reconsidered. "We could probably get a flight to Paris from here though, couldn't we, Jim?"

"Let's do that then!" Rex said, desire to see Sarah pushing forward again.

The enthusiasm of his tone caught Jim's ears, and he gave Rex a suspicious look, but with Tom vouching for him, didn't comment. _Mental note_, Rex thought, _don't think about Sarah too often._ Difficult, but not impossible. Not completely. Though it was when he thought he might be less than twenty-four hours from her. He bit his lip slightly, the worry resurfacing. He'd been telling himself she would be there just to keep functioning, but what if she wasn't? He'd wound up in the Eastern bloc, what if she'd ended up somewhere even worse? He knew she spoke several languages, but even that wouldn't help her if she ended up somewhere classified. Hell, with the current level of paranoia that was so prevalent in the world at this time, being multilingual would probably only cause her more problems if the government noticed her.

Jim went back to the phone, ordering a car to the airport. It would be more expensive, travelling on short notice, but no one paid a single thought to the expense. Tom was scarcely less eager to be at home than Rex was, and within an hour they were boarding a plane to Paris. It cost Tom – or rather Wayne Enterprises – a _lot_ of money, since Jim was insistent that they buy every seat on the plane to be on the safe side. And once they had, all but a few of the security officers fell asleep, apparently exhausted. Rex couldn't blame them. Presumably since their new CEO had disappeared, none of them had been sleeping much.

Neither he nor Tom slept though. A few minutes after take-off, watching Germany fly beneath them, Tom said, "I suppose this is the end of my career, isn't it?"

"As a doctor you mean?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't have to be," Rex reasoned. "There are a lot of directors on the board of Wayne Enterprises. I imagine. Couldn't one of them run the company for you?"

"Maybe. I wish I'd paid more attention to it all now."

"Never too late. You can be whatever you want to be."

Tom's gaze went amused, his intelligence shining through. "You don't work for the government, do you?"

"No."

"But your partner really is in trouble."

"Knowing Reaper, I doubt it," Rex smiled, "but I have no idea where she even came out. It could be Beijing for all I know, or Gotham. God, I hope she didn't come out where the Watchtower should be…"

The image of Sarah, still and frozen, was horribly difficult to dispel, but it faded when Thomas laid a hand on Rex's shoulder with a comforting smile. "I'm sure she's fine. She can take care of herself, right?"

"I've seen her take care of the entire planet before."

"So she'll be fine. Look, once we get to Paris, there are considerable resources at my disposal. If she's lost, we'll find her."

"Thanks, Mr. Wayne."

"_Tom_, I keep telling you."

"Alright. Tom. Thank you."

* * *

**A/N: AQ raised the point of whether Jim is just a coincidental character or Jim Gordon before he became a cop...and I honestly can't make up my mind, so that's open for your interpretation :) Review please!**


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